MAN 
WHO 

REAPS 


KATHARINE 
JONES 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 


THE 

MAN    WHO    REAPS 


A  STORY 


By 
KATHARINE  JONES 


New  York 
Desmond  FitzGerald,  Inc. 


Copyright,  1912 

By  DESMOND  FITZGERALD,  INC. 
All  Bights  Reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I.  THE  STRANGER 

II.  THE  FACE  OF  STONB 

III.  THE  SPELL         .... 

IV.  BETWEEN  Two  WORLDS  . 

V.  THE  DANGER  IN  THE  CASTLE  . 

VI.  THE  ITALIAN  WING  . 

VII.  THE  BURDEN 

VIII.  A  VICARIOUS  PENANCE    . 

IX.  A  TWILIGHT  VISION 

X.  RAISING  THE  UNSEEN 

XL  A  FRESH  TRAIL 

XII.  THE  BIRTHDAY 

XIII.  A    VOICE    FROM   THE    MlDDLE   AGES 

XIV.  A  TALE  OF  FATE      . 

XV.  THIRTY-FIVE!     .... 

XVI.  THE  PICTURE  GALLERY     . 

XVII.  THE  SECOND  PERSON 

XVIII.  A  BROKEN  SILENCE  . 

XIX.  MARIOLA  ; 

XX.  A  KEY 

XXI.  "  I  MUST  GIVE— GIVE  !  "  . 

XXII.  THE  DOOM  OF  ROXMOOR  . 


2136386 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXIII. 

159 

XXIV. 

THE  MESSAGE 

.      165 

XXV. 

THE  SURRENDER     . 

.      174 

XXVI. 

THE  ANSWER 

.     181 

XXVII. 

STRIKING  THE  TRAIL 

.     189 

xxvin. 

A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  LIGHT 

.     201 

XXIX. 

THE  CORE  OF  THE  SECRET    . 

.     212 

XXX. 

THE  ONLY  WAT    . 

.     222 

XXXI. 

THE  FINAL  PLUNGE 

.     227 

XXXII. 

THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

.     234 

XXXIII. 

THE  MAN  WHO  Sows    . 

.     240 

XXXIV. 

THE  RISEN  SPIRIT 

.     246 

XXXV. 

THE  LORD  AVELING 

.     253 

XXXVI. 

UNVEILED       .... 

.     257 

THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 


THE   STRANGER 

A  YOUNG  man  leaned  upon  the  railing  of  an 
incoming  Atlantic  steamer,  watching  with  keen 
relish  the  picturesque  confusion  of  an  English 
harbor.  He  had  a  tall,  well-knit  frame,  and  the 
color  of  much  living  in  the  open  air.  He  nodded 
a  careless  greeting  to  a  man,  somewhat  older,  who 
strolled  up,  and  took  a  place  beside  him. 

"  Well,  Henshaw,  the  land  looks  good,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  Yes,  I  hate  these  beastly  voyages,"  growled 
the  older  man.  "  I  envy  you,  Kent,  seeing  all  this 
for  the  first  time." 

The  young  man  laughed  good-humoredly,  and 
continued  to  watch  the  slow  discharge  of  pas- 
sengers. 

"  It's  a  double  stroke  of  luck  to  see  it  with  Ned 
Aveling,"  he  remarked. 

As  the  name  left  Kent's  lips,  Henshaw  threw  a 
piercing  glance  at  him.  But  Kent  did  not  seem 
to  notice;  his  eyes  were  on  the  shifting  crowd. 
Henshaw  drew  nearer,  and  leaned  upon  the  railing. 


2  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  So  you  are  visiting  Ned  Aveling.  Have  you — 
seen  him,  lately  ?  " 

A  shade  of  annoyance  crossed  Kent's  face,  as 
he  replied  shortly,  "  Not  since  he  left  America." 

"  Hm.    That  was  some  months  ago." 

"  Yes — six  months." 

Henshaw's  face  curiously  softened,  and,  after  a 
keen  survey  of  the  younger  man,  he  turned  his  gaze 
to  the  crowd  gathered  upon  the  dock.  Something 
there  caught  his  attention.  His  heavy  features 
sharpened  as  he  pushed  slightly  forward,  for  a 
moment's  eager  inspection.  "  I  have  heard  that 
Aveling  is  quite  changed,"  he  said,  with  a  quick, 
in-drawn  breath,  his  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  some 
object  in  the  throng. 

Kent  made  an  impatient  movement.  "  Non- 
sense !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Ned  Aveling  won't  lose 
his  balance  because  a  chateau  and  fortune  chance 
to  cross  his  path." 

Henshaw  shifted  his  position.  "  Still,  it  would 
not  be  unreasonable  to  look  for  some  difference 
in  the  man,  after  that  amazing  luck  of  his.  Avel- 
ing's  mad-cap  pranks  would  be  a  little  out  of 
order  in  an  English  manor-house,"  he  said  ab- 
sently, as  if  mentally  filling  a  gap  in  his  thoughts. 

A  spark  of  anger  shot  from  Kent's  eye.  "  Now 
see  here,  Henshaw,  you  know  I've  got  a  temper, 
and  it  won't  stand  more  than  a  reasonable  strain. 
Aveling  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  I  know  him  like 


THE  STRANGER  3 

a  book,  and  all  this  talk  about  his  being  changed 
is  flat  nonsense.  A  man  mil  grow  up  in  time,  and 
why  the  gossips  fall  upon  him  because  he  doesn't 
jig  through  history  wearing  the  cap  and  bells, 
puzzles  the  understanding  of  your  ordinary  citizen 
like  me." 

Henshaw  let  the  heated  words  pass,  and  waited 
a  moment  before  replying. 

"  I  never  knew  Aveling  well  in  America,"  he 
went  on,  in  a  quiet  tone.  "  But  when  I  met  him 
over  here  it  was  hard  to  believe  the  tales  I  have 
heard  of  his  younger  days.  Was  he  as  wild  as 
the  stories  make  him?" 

The  smothered  wrath  faded  from  Kent's  face. 

"  Oh,  Aveling  had  the  most  infectious  joy  in 
living.  His  doings  are  classic  on  the  campus," 
he  said,  relaxing  in  a  stream  of  happy  recollec- 
tions. "  He  was  the  inspiration  of  every  graceless 
prank  pulled  off  in  his  college  days.  I  think  he 
must  have  spent  a  good  half  of  his  time  racing 
about  with  explanations.  It  was  the  treat  of  my 
life  to  see  him  sail  in  to  expound  the  harmless 
nature  of  his  antics.  He  could  thaw  the  stiffest 
duenna  by  some  marvellous  spell  he  put  into  his 
lightest  word.  No  one  could  resist  him.  He  had 
the  most  intoxicating  smile,  the  most  fascinating 
impudence." 

Kent  was  carried  away  by  the  force  of  his  own 
thoughts,  and  seemed  to  see  beyond  the  strange 


4,  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

scene  before  him  to  another  day,  full  of  vital 
memories.  Henshaw  was  a  curious  study  as  he 
broke  across  this  dreaming  mood.  He  pointed 
downward  to  a  figure  standing  near  the  gang- 
plank. "  Kent,  do  you  know  that  man  ?  "  he 
asked  in  a  sharp,  incisive  tone. 

Kent,  fresh  from  his  recollections,  stared  down 
for  a  moment,  and  then  shook  his  head.  "  No, 
never  saw  him  before." 

"  Odd  looking  person,"  Henshaw  ventured,  with 
a  quick  look  at  Kent,  upon  whom  the  incident 
made  no  apparent  impression.  Nothing  more  was 
said,  until  Henshaw,  muttering  something  about 
the  thinning  trail  of  passengers  that  left  the  ship, 
started  off  with  a  hasty  good-bye,  to  Kent's  evi- 
dent surprise. 

"  Won't  you  wait,  and  meet  Aveling?  "  said 
Kent.  "  He'll  be  here,  somewhere." 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  stammered  Henshaw.  "  I'm 
in  a  hurry.  I've  something  rather  urgent  to  see 
to,"  and  he  hastened  away.  At  a  little  distance, 
he  paused,  looked  with  musing  pity  at  Kent,  and 
then,  shaking  his  head,  disappeared  below. 

The  young  man  showed  some  irritation  at  Hen- 
shaw's  odd  manoeuvres,  which  he  pretended  not 
to  see,  and  fell  to  studying  the  kaleidoscopic  move- 
ments of  the  crowd,  and  finally  the  figure  Henshaw 
had  pointed  out.  The  man  stood  motionless  near 
the  gang-plank,  giving  close  attention  to  the 


THE  STRANGER  5 

stream  of  people  going  by.  Kent's  eye  returned 
to  him  from  time  to  time  with  a  growing  sense 
of  uneasiness.  There  was  something  disagree- 
able about  him,  some  hint  of  death  and  gloom,  and 
as  Kent  watched  he  felt  a  kind  of  spell  creep 
over  him  that  drugged  his  senses.  He  roused  him- 
self, with  some  astonishment,  scanning  the  melan- 
choly stranger  more  closely.  A  greater  contrast 
to  the  merry  figure  he  lately  had  in  mind  could 
scarcely  be  offered.  He  was  eminently  English, 
but  something  in  the  lean  figure  caused  the  man 
upon  the  deck  to  grow  thoughtful,  his  mind 
brought  to  sharp  focus  upon  the  spectacle  surging 
across  the  docks.  The  sense  of  two  merging 
worlds  was  curiously  symbolized  by  that  motion- 
less figure;  he  surveyed  the  crowd  with  the  de- 
portment of  an  English  gentleman,  but  his  spare 
form  was  unmistakably  American. 

With  a  gasp  of  horror,  Kent  caught  a  deeper 
meaning.  For  all  at  once,  the  valley  which  the 
stranger's  melancholy  spanned  lay  between  the 
brilliant  world  of  the  senses,  upon  which  Kent 
gazed,  and  the  isolation  of  some  experience  not 
given  to  the  common  lot.  The  man  stood  as  de- 
tached and  unreal  as  a  ghost  in  a  throng  of  living 
beings. 

Kent  stared  on,  unable  to  disentangle  his  crowd- 
ing impressions,  for  the  uncanny  figure  began  to 
lure  him.  Some  one  stirred  below  on  the  dock, 


6  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

and  caught  his  eye.  Henshaw  was  moving  away, 
with  a  hastily  averted  face.  Kent  sprang  up,  mut- 
tering a  wrathful  exclamation,  and  shook  his  long, 
lithe  limbs,  which  ached  with  a  curious  cramp. 
He  leaned  over  the  railing  to  look  once  more  at 
the  sombre  stranger^  and  again  his  limbs  were 
caught  in  a  numbing  thrall.  He  wrenched  his 
attention  loose,  with  a  curious  feeling  of  alarm, 
and  a  belated  gratitude  to  Henshaw  as  he  shook 
off  the  mesmeric  spell  of  the  silent  figure  waiting 
below. 

"  Heavenly  powers !  "  he  muttered,  "  but  it  will 
be  good  to  see  Ned,  after  that  ghostly  sight." 

He  began  to  think  it  strange  he  had  not  seen 
Aveling,  and  kept  a  sharp  look-out  for  the  high- 
held  head  and  dashing  figure,  which  were  not  easy 
to  overlook,  even  in  a  crowd.  But  he  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.  Kent  stopped,  when  he  left  the  gang- 
plank, and  looked  about.  Some  one  touched  his 
shoulder.  "  Well — you're  a  sight  for  the  gods 
and  all!" 

Kent  turned  about,  and  then  brought  to  a  halt 
in  stunned  amazement.  It  was  Aveling's  voice, 
no  doubt,  but  it  issued  from  the  gloomy  English- 
man whom  he  had  seen  standing  at  the  ship's 
side! 


CHAPTER  H 

THE  FACE  OF  STONE 

THEY  gripped  hands  in  silent  man-fashion,  Kent 
wincing  at  the  bony  clutch.  What  awful  thing 
had  happened  Aveling?  He  was  not  merely  al- 
tered, he  was  another  man.  Kent  could  not  be- 
lieve his  senses,  until  presently  there  came  a  smile 
about  the  set  mouth  which  assured  him  that  be- 
yond question  this  changed  flesh  was  Ned  Aveling. 

"  Let's  get  out  of  this  crowd,"  Kent  heard  him 
say,  as,  with  an  abrupt  movement,  he  led  the  way 
to  where  his  wife  waited,  the  graceful  beauty  Kent 
had  seen  last  in  her  bridal  veil.  He  thought  she 
looked  wan  and  wistful,  and  was  startled  to  see 
something  like  relief  leap  out  of  her  great,  gray 
eyes,  as  their  hands  met. 

Aveling  went  off  to  see  about  Kent's  luggage, 
leaving  him  in  Mrs.  Aveling's  company,  trying  to 
fight  off  that  odd  feeling  of  melancholy,  or  de- 
pression, or  whatever  it  was  that  had  settled  about 
him  with  the  first  sight  of  Aveling's  face.  There 
was  just  a  touch  of  restraint  in  Mrs.  Aveling's 
manner,  something  totally  at  variance  with  the 
graceful  welcome  she  had  given  him,  and  the  easy 

7 


8  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

flow  of  talk  that  left  her  lips.  He  noticed  a 
furtive  apprehension  in  the  look  she  directed  at 
Aveling,  on  his  return,  and  a  disagreeable  thought 
crossed  his  mind  that  she  might  be  unhappy.  But 
it  seemed  impossible.  Their  courtship  had  been 
unusually  serene  and  full  of  joy.  He  dismissed 
the  surmise  from  his  mind,  but  the  oddness  of  it 
all  stung  him  into  a  closer  observation  of  Avel- 
ing's  stern  pallor,  and  moody  abstraction.  Per- 
haps the  change  of  climate  did  not  agree  with  him. 
An  impulse  to  inquire  more  closely  about  his 
health  sprang  to  Kent's  lips  several  times,  to  be 
checked  by  the  unaccountable  reluctance  which 
seemed  to  direct  Mrs.  Aveling's  movements,  for 
he  noticed  that  she  forebore  the  slightest  contra- 
diction of  Aveling's  speech,  or  the  smallest  in- 
terruption of  his  moods. 

"  How  soon  shall  we  start,  Ned?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  discernible  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  We  are  not  leaving,"  he  said  harshly.  "  We 
will  spend  the  night  in  Liverpool." 

She  said  nothing  more,  but  her  acquiescence 
contained  a  hint  that  she  knew  of  no  reason  for 
staying  there,  and  Aveling  volunteered  no  further 
information.  They  went  immediately  to  the  hotel, 
where  they  passed  the  evening  in  quiet  talk,  and 
retired  early. 

Kent  was  more  mystified  than  he  cared  to  think, 
and  doggedly  set  himself  to  accept  events  without 


THE  PACE  OF  STONE  9 

question.  But  a  disconcerting  memory  kept  be- 
fore his  mind  the  contents  of  Aveling's  last  letter, 
which  distinctly  said  they  would  go  at  once  to 
Roxmoor,  Aveling's  ancestral  home,  and  travel 
through  the  country  later.  And  now  he  had 
chosen,  without  any  apparent  reason,  to  loiter  in 
smoky  Liverpool.  What  further  caprice  might 
direct  his  movements,  Kent  could  not  even  imagine ; 
he  was  dealing  with  a  person  he  did  not 
know. 

With  a  resolute  effort  of  the  will,  he  put  it 
all  aside,  and  in  the  morning  sauntered  down  to 
breakfast  in  his  usual,  genial  humor,  listening  with 
impassive  calm  when  Aveling  gave  out  that  they 
would  go  on  to  Chester. 

"  Shall  we  stay  there  over  night  ?  "  his  wife 
casually  asked. 

"  How  can  I  tell ! "  he  exclaimed  irritably. 
"  Kent  might  enjoy  a  longer  stay.  There  is  no 
reason  to  rush  violently  about.  It  seems  to  me 
you  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  to  Roxmoor, 
Aline." 

For  just  a  moment,  her  self-control  failed,  and 
over  her  face  there  rushed  a  look  of  horror.  Kent 
watched,  every  sense  alert.  Did  she  dread  the 
splendor  of  Aveling's  ancient  home?  He  got  no 
further  light,  for  she  instantly  rallied,  and  quietly 
replied,  "  Why,  dear,  I  am  in  no  hurry.  I  was 
wondering  how  to  pack  my  small  belongings.  I 


10  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

am  a  terrible  person,  Mr.  Kent.  I  can't  pack  a 
pocket-handkerchief  without  an  hour's  notice." 

"  Oh,  Aline  needs  a  caravan  to  so  much  as  cross 
the  county,"  remarked  her  husband,  his  gloom 
lifting.  He  was  presently  heard  to  remark,  in 
a  mollified  tone,  that  Kent  might  as  well  see  the 
sights  on  the  way,  which  was  plausible  and  pleas- 
ant, except  for  the  slight  hesitation  of  his  manner, 
and  the  elaborate  explanation  for  things  which 
did  not  need  to  be  explained. 

Against  his  will,  the  discomfort  of  some  premo- 
nition began  to  invade  Kent's  mind,  as  they 
loitered  in  easy  fashion  on  the  way  to  Roxmoor. 
The  transformation  in  his  old  college  chum  gath- 
ered startling  force,  as  Aveling  grew  used  to 
Kent's  daily  presence,  and  fell  into  his  usual  habits. 
He  was  not  older,  but  different;  his  merry  laugh- 
ing spirits  were  struck  down.  Kent's  thoughts 
gathered  about  the  subject  with  deep  misgiving, 
for  he  noticed  that  these  moods  increased  in  rigor 
as  they  approached  Roxmoor,  and  reluctantly  he 
began  to  see  that  whatever  had  quenched  Avel- 
ing's  bright  spirits,  it  had  some  close  relation  to 
his  change  of  fortune.  Aveling  seemed  actually 
to  fear  the  return  to  the  castle.  Kent  could  only 
infer  that  it  brought  the  recurrence  of  some  ex- 
perience to  be  dreaded,  or  perhaps  an  increase  of 
the  habitual  gloom  which  replaced  his  youthful 
gayety. 


THE  FACE  OF  STONE  11 

A  few  days'  travel  brought  them  to  the  station 
where  the  Roxmoor  carriage  waited  for  them. 
Aveling  had  become  almost  harsh  as  he  stood 
aside  to  let  his  wife  and  Kent  pass  into  the  car- 
riage. Then  he  followed,  and  fell  into  utter 
silence. 

There  was  a  nipping  rawness  in  the  air,  which 
grew  sharper  as  the  day  waned.  As  the  carriage 
rolled  out  through  the  hedges,  Kent  began  quietly 
to  talk  of  that  peace  of  life  in  England,  which 
lays  its  charm  upon  the  person  new  to  the  spell. 
The  symbols  of  it  lay  on  every  side;  England's 
glorious  past  which  spread  before  them  in  splendid 
castles  and  storied  ruins;  her  wonderful  beauty, 
her  vast  treasures.  Aveling  showed  a  growing 
irritation  as  the  conversation  rippled  on.  Mrs. 
Aveling  grew  nervous;  Kent  noticed  the  signs  of 
it  that  escaped  her  vigilant  self-control,  and  grad- 
ually there  was  borne  to  his  mind  the  sense  of 
some  approaching  trial.  What  it  could  be  he 
could  form  no  idea,  but  the  bare  thought  of  that 
waiting  ordeal  filled  him  with  concern  for  the  two 
miserable  beings  who  sat  cowed  and  silent. 

Kent  summoned  into  life  all  his  powers  of  en- 
tertainment, skimming  with  light  touch  the  es- 
trangement of  thought  which  lay  like  a  ban  upon 
moody  Aveling,  and  plunged  into  a  recital  of 
boyhood  events,  common  to  both.  He  did  not 
succeed.  His  talk  fell  as  unregarded  as  the  rattle 


13  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

of  the  wheels.  Mrs.  Aveling  gave  way  to  some 
silent  terror  that  blotted  out  every  other  part  of 
her  consciousness.  Kent  ceased  to  talk,  and  looked 
away. 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  a  range  of  distant 
hills.  In  front  of  them  stood  an  ancient  feudal 
castle,  one  of  those  monuments  of  a  splendid 
history  which  lay  on  every  side,  weaving  a  spell 
about  Kent's  senses.  He  dropped  the  anxiety  of 
Aveling's  moods,  and  surrendering  to  the  strange 
enchantment  which  lurked  among  the  gray  and 
broken  ruins  on  every  hillside,  drifted  out  among 
his  crowding  fancies,  reconstructing  the  splendor 
of  the  past.  His  imagination  peopled  vacant  ruins. 
The  sound  of  mirth  and  banquet  rose  in  those 
silent  halls.  Noble  knights,  and  alluring  beauties 
cast  off  the  unreality  of  legend,  and  trod  those 
vaulted  chambers  in  the  pride  of  opulent  and 
splendid  life. 

Whirling  through  this  tangle  of  fact  and  fancy, 
Kent's  reverie  was  rudely  broken.  The  carriage 
turned  abruptly  under  a  gateway,  a  grim  struc- 
ture built  heavily  of  gray  stone.  Aveling  plunged 
into  the  silence  with  his  deep  voice,  dwelling, 
as  if  by  force  of  will,  upon  fact  and  common- 
place. 

"  See,  Kent,  how  carefully  the  effect  has  been 
developed.  The  ragged  firs  in  that  opening  cut 
the  sky  like  an  etching.  And  that  group  of  cop- 


THE  FACE  OF  STONE  13 

per  beeches, — it  gives  a  glow  to  the  whole  land- 
scape." 

Kent  looked  out  upon  a  level  stretch  of  culti- 
vated ground,  bearing  the  fruit  of  thoughtful  cen- 
turies. The  avenue,  through  which  they  drove, 
was  bordered  by  venerable  limes,  growing  into  a 
tangle  overhead.  They  caught  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  a  gorgeous  sunset  through  the  branches. 
As  they  suddenly  emerged  from  the  trees,  Kent 
started  in  his  seat.  In  the  double  gloom  of  time 
and  falling  night,  there  rose  against  the  flaming 
sky,  the  ancient  castle  he  had  seen  in  the  distance, 
in  front  of  the  range  of  hills.  Projected  with 
threatening  violence  out  of  that  living  past  where 
Kent's  mind  had  withdrawn,  it  seemed,  to  his  en- 
thralled and  dreaming  mood,  to  take  on  the  sem- 
blance of  a  human  face,  stiffened,  by  some  sinister 
experience,  into  a  dreadful  immortality. 

Kent  beat  against  the  fantasies  that  fell  upon 
him.  But  his  eyes,  held  in  some  enchantment, 
seemed  over  and  over  to  trace  those  dreadful 
features,  as  if  he  saw  a  sinister  deed  envisaged. 
Horrified  by  the  pressure  of  thought,  he  turned 
away.  But  he  was  not  the  only  one  the  uncanny 
place  disturbed.  Mrs.  Aveling  was  looking  at  her 
husband  like  a  charmed  bird.  Kent's  eye  swiftly 
followed  hers.  Aveling  was  leaning  slightly  for- 
ward, a  hostile  glitter  in  the  veiled  regard  that 
rested  on  the  castle.  There  had  come  a  change 


14  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

upon  him  that  was  not  of  color  or  outline,  but 
as  if  he  had  lost  that  intangible  thing  we  call  the 
self,  and  on  the  familiar  features  was  painted  the 
image  of  a  stranger.  Kent,  in  horror,  saw  gath- 
ering there  the  outlines  of  the  colossal  Face  he  had 
seen  in  the  mass  of  stone  before  him. 

A  smothered  cry  caused  Aveling  to  move,  and 
Kent  saw  that  face  of  stone, — terrible — stricken! 
Aveling  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  stood  poised 
like  an  evil  power  about  to  close  about  a  helpless 
victim.  Kent  glanced  around.  Every  one  was 
motionless,  struck  into  terrified  silence.  His 
glance  returned  to  Aveling,  who  was  making 
stealthy  readiness  to  spring,  with  what  murderous 
intention  his  clenched  hands  gave  witness.  Kent, 
with  a  swift  movement,  laid  a  grasp  of  iron  on 
Aveling's  wrists,  and  steadily  fixing  his  gaze 
upon  the  stony  eyes  that  met  him,  called  loudly 
twice.  "  Ned !  Ned !  Wake  up,  boy.  We're 
home." 

There  was  a  flash  across  his  face,  a  shivering 
of  his  powerful  frame,  and  Aveling  returned  to 
himself.  Kent  had  released  his  wrists,  but  his  hand 
was  still  extended.  He  glanced  down,  as  if  won- 
dering how  it  came  in  that  position.  Suddenly, 
his  old  bewildering  smile  flashed  out.  "  Well — 
won't  you  take  my  honorable  hand?"  he  said, 
with  a  glimmer  of  his  youthful  fun.  "  Here's  wel- 
come to  the  House  of  Aveling." 


THE  FACE  OF  STONE  15 

Kent's  heart  leaped,  for  the  gracious  figure 
that  leaned  toward  him  against  the  dying  splendor 
of  the  sky  was,  in  voice  and  manner  and  person, 
the  merry  man  Aveling  he  knew  so  well. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  SPELL 

KENT  could  not  at  once  recover.  He  rose  to 
leave  the  carriage,  half  inclined  to  doubt  his  senses. 
But,  whether  imagined  or  no,  the  dread  of  the 
house  fell  upon  him  with  tangible  weight,  as  he 
passed  into  its  shadow.  When  he  approached  the 
massive  portal,  it  opened  to  receive  him  like  the 
maw  of  some  horrible  monster. 

A  sensation  of  relief  came  over  him;  as  the 
heavy,  oaken  door  swung  back,  and  let  out  a  flood 
of  light,  he  began  eagerly  to  talk.  When  they 
had  entered,  Aveling  suddenly  became  brusque, 
and  without  much  ceremony  turned  him  over  to 
a  servant.  Kent  passively  followed  this  func- 
tionary up  the  staircase,  a  massive  structure  of 
carved  wood,  widening  occasionally  into  platforms 
to  break  the  toilsome  ascent  to  the  next  floor. 
Every  footstep  sounded  loud  upon  the  oaken 
boards,  and  struck  a  jarring  note  into  the  har- 
mony below.  It  was  a  fascinating  picture  of  rosy 
light,  falling  upon  the  mellow  beauty  of  ages. 
Kent  looked  down  for  a  moment,  and  then  went 
on.  The  wide  corridors  led  through  a  wilderness 

16 


THE  SPELL  17 

of  rooms,  softly  lit  and  hung  with  tapestry,  open- 
ing out  in  every  direction,  until  it  seemed  to  his 
bewildered  mind  that  he  had  stumbled  into  a  castle 
of  dreams,  instead  of  the  home  of  his  lifelong 
friend.  The  servant,  moving  noiselessly  ahead, 
selected  a  room  in  the  multitude,  and,  inviting 
Kent  to  enter,  followed  him  through  the  door- 
way. 

"  Mr.  Aveling  gave  orders  to  have  these  rooms 
prepared  for  you,  and  I  was  to  ask  if  you  want 
to  have  anything  changed,  sir." 

Kent  looked  about  in  some  surprise,  as  he  heard 
the  precise  enumeration  of  provisions  for  his  com- 
fort. Aveling  had  remembered  the  most  trifling 
personal  tastes.  He  replied  briefly  to  the  servant's 
pressing  inquiries  that  everything  was  quite  to  his 
liking,  and  felt  relieved  when  the  door  had  closed 
behind  the  man,  and  he  was  free  to  move  with 
curious  interest  about  the  spacious  apartment. 

A  bright  fire  snapped  in  a  companionable  man- 
ner in  the  ancient  grate.  Beside  it  stood  a  chair, 
a  modern  type  he  particularly  liked,  and  nearby, 
a  shaded  lamp  for  nocturnal  reading.  A  glow 
went  through  him.  The  forebodings  he  had  felt 
dropped  away  like  an  outworn  garment.  They 
seemed  incongruous  in  the  dreamy  repose  with 
which  the  room  wooed  the  senses,  and  the  signs 
of  friendly  thought  scattered  on  every  side.  He 
heard  the  sound  of  Aveling's  voice  somewhere  in 


18  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

the  corridor.  Mellowed  and  softened  by  distance, 
it  became  the  ringing  voice  he  used  to  know.  He 
shook  himself  impatiently,  the  bewilderment  of 
his  recent  emotions  still  upon  him. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Kent,"  he  said,  half 
aloud,  in  the  mood  of  youth  before  the  memories 
of  a  vital,  mellow  age.  "  You  are  of  the  things 
raw  and  new." 

He  had  fully  recovered  his  easy  buoyancy  when 
he  descended  to  the  first  floor,  and  almost  ran  into 
his  host  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway. 
Aveling  started,  looked  annoyed,  and  turned  ab- 
ruptly away.  "  Follow  me,"  he  said  coldly.  "  We 
always  sit  in  the  Red  Parlor." 

It  was  like  a  dash  of  cold  water  to  Kent.  Was 
it  possible  that  the  chattering  gossips  had  the 
truth?  His  disquiet  returned,  for  Aveling  had 
undergone  some  alteration  which  gave  Kent  the 
weird  impression  that  another  man  had  taken  his 
place.  He  looked  up  and  down  the  figure  moving 
ahead  of  him.  Even  his  very  motions  had  changed. 
It  required  some  effort  on  Kent's  part  to  resume 
his  usual  manner. 

"  Say,  Ned,  is  this  a  house  or  a  town  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  they  entered  the  Red  Parlor.  "  If  I 
hadn't  been  furnished  by  Providence  with  a  bump 
of  locality,  I  might  be  in  the  next  county.  I 
wandered  off  the  main  highway  into  the  most 
incredible  places,  coming  down.  Don't  you  pro- 


THE  SPELL  19 

vide  a  chart  and  compass  for  plain  Americans  ?  " 
Kent's  face  was  bland  and  open. 

Aveling  shrank  a  little,  and  dropped  his  eyes. 
His  wife  cut  into  the  blank. 

"  The  size  of  the  house  is  overpowering.  I  felt 
the  same  way  at  first.  After  dinner,  perhaps 
Edward  will  show  you  some  of  the  rooms  in  this 
wing."  She  finished  with  a  timid  appeal,  full  of 
the  tenderest  concern. 

Aveling  perceptibly  shivered,  and  began  ab- 
ruptly to  talk,  with  a  sharp,  incisive  voice. 

"  Kent,  how  do  those  ghostly  experiments  of 
yours  get  on  ?  " 

"  The — table  tipping,  and  so  on  ?  "  asked  Kent 
incredulously,  unable  to  believe  his  senses. 

"  Yes.  You  know  I — I've  grown  quite — inter- 
ested." 

Kent  had  a  moment  of  amazement.  Aveling 
could  never  be  induced  to  so  much  as  hear  of 
Kent's  psychological  studies.  It  was  the  only 
difference  of  their  college  days,  Aveling  always 
asserting  that  every  man  has  a  loose  screw,  and 
that  he  had  run  on  Kent's  very  early.  But  now 
he  listened  with  avidity,  and  eagerly  followed 
Kent's  careful  lead.  He  had  evidently  read  and 
thought  deeply  about  the  subject,  as  Kent  pres- 
ently discovered.  The  amazing  shift  of  interest 
was  full  of  meaning. 

Meanwhile,  the  talk  wandered  to  other  things, 


20  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

but  Aveling  never  failed  to  bring  it  back  to  some 
form  of  psychic  thought,  as  if  his  mind  were  fixed 
there.  Kent's  anxiety  became  extreme.  It  wiped 
out  his  interest  in  the  strange  fortune  which  had 
fallen  to  Aveling's  lot.  He  knew  that  rich  treas- 
ures and  ancient  glories  passed  before  him.  But 
he  saw  only  the  master  of  this  splendor,  once  the 
merriest  of  the  merry,  the  inspiration  of  mad-cap 
gayety,  wearing  upon  his  darkened  brow  the  sign 
of  a  spirit  that  wore  sackcloth  and  ashes. 

The  puzzle  only  deepened  when,  after  dinner, 
Aveling  steadily  ignored  all  the  hints  his  wife 
urged  upon  him.  She  came,  and  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  with  smiling  insistence.  A  dark  flush 
stained  his  cheek.  He  grasped  his  chair,  as  if 
something  strove  to  pull  him  away.  "  Don't  worry 
me  so,  Aline.  Can't  you  see  I — I  want  to  ask 
Kent — some  questions  ?  "  he  finished  lamely,  pant- 
ing a  little.  Beads  of  cold  sweat  sparkled  upon 
his  brow. 

Mrs.  Aveling  turned  away,  and  did  not  answer. 
He  threw  a  furtive  glance  at  her.  "  You  know  I 
have  a  headache,  dear,"  he  said  more  gently,  as 
if  anxious  to  atone  for  his  roughness. 

But  he  turned  at  once  to  Kent,  asking  with 
some  abruptness,  "  Do  you  think  we  are  deathless 
beings  ?  " 

Kent  took  this  to  mean  that  Aveling  wished  to 
return  to  the  subject  of  psychic  research.  He 


THE  SPELL  21 

considered  Aveling's  youthful  scepticism  before 
replying,  and  then  rambled  on  about  some  experi- 
ments which  were  exciting  much  comment  in  Amer- 
ica, some  startling  evidence  of  communication  with 
the  dead. 

At  this  point,  Aveling's  interest  became  acute. 
He  started  forward.  "  Do  you  think  communion 
with  the  dead  is  possible  ?  " 

"  I  do  indeed,"  said  Kent  earnestly.  "  I  think 
the  only  bar  is  the  difficulty  of  finding  a  common 
speech." 

He  was  disagreeably  stirred,  for  before  his  very 
eyes,  Aveling  was  altering,  line  by  line.  His 
countenance  grew  cold  and  sphinx-like,  his  stature 
seemed  to  increase.  Kent  turned  away  from  the 
baleful  light  that  glittered  in  his  eyes,  and  con- 
tinued to  quietly  talk.  Aveling  suddenly  inter- 
rupted, as  if  following  some  inward  train  of 
thought.  "  Then  even  a  trifling  interference  with 
the  ordinary  events  of  life  might  be  considered 
as  a  sign  that  some  one  was  trying  to  establish 
communication." 

"  Yes — yes,  it  might,"  Kent  replied,  his  eyes 
on  the  fire.  Aveling's  hollow  voice  boomed  like 
fog-bells.  His  impassioned  interest  was  puzzling 
to  Kent,  who  did  not  see  in  the  least  the  drift 
of  his  talk.  Kent  replied  cautiously.  "  There 
have  been  some  messages,  clearly  not  the  result 
of  fraud,  which  might  indicate  that  some  one  was 


22  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

trying  to  work  the  line.     It  is,  at  least,  a  reason- 
able conjecture.     Now,  for  instance " 

He  turned  about,  and  then  started  to  his  feet. 
Aveling  had  vanished  as  completely  as  if  he  had 
been  drawn  upward  through  the  air! 


CHAPTER  IV 

BETWEEN    TWO    WORLDS 

MRS.  AVELING  had  risen  to  her  feet.  Her  face 
was  white,  her  eyes  wide  and  staring.  She  put 
her  hands  to  her  throat.  "  You  mustn't  mind 
Ned's  leaving,  Mr.  Kent.  He  is  very  tired.  Per- 
haps you  would  like  to  go  to  your  room." 

Deeply  mystified,  Kent  bade  her  good-night, 
and  took  himself  upstairs.  Once,  in  a  favorable 
turn  of  the  staircase,  he  looked  back.  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing  stood  where  he  had  left  her,  wringing  her 
hands.  Kent  went  on ;  but  the  whole  house  seemed 
to  undergo  an  alteration.  The  corridors  rustled 
as  if  unseen  beings  moved  in  the  shades.  The 
chambers  yawned  like  black  caverns  as  he  passed. 
As  he  stepped  into  the  darkness  of  his  room,  the 
fire  in  the  grate,  sunk  to  a  bed  of  embers,  stared 
out  of  the  gloom  like  a  dull  red  eye.  He  could 
no  longer  evade  the  fear  that  pressed  upon  him. 
This  heritage  of  Aveling's  contained  a  mystery, 
of  what  shape  or  meaning  he  could  not  guess ; 
he  only  knew  it  to  be  a  grim  reality.  Stirring  the 
fire  into  a  brisk  blaze,  he  drew  a  chair  before  it, 
and,  dropping  into  the  easy  hollow,  gave  him- 

23 


24.  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

self  up  to  all  the  unpleasant  reflections  which 
the  situation  evoked. 

Kent  knew  only  the  barest  outlines  of  Aveling's 
history.  It  had  never  interested  either  of  them 
in  their  boyhood  days.  But  now  he  ran  over  the 
scanty  facts  with  anxious  care.  Aveling  was  an 
American  by  birth.  His  ancestry,  after  running 
back  a  few  generations,  crossed  over  to  England. 
The  family  there  was  one  of  great  wealth  and 
power,  stretching  an  unbroken  line  to  William 
Conqueror,  after  which  it  was  lost  or  dimmed 
in  the  haze  of  pre-Norman  times. 

In  the  colonial  era,  a  younger  son,  stirred  by 
a  spirit  of  adventure,  had  gone  away,  under  a 
cloud  of  wails  and  angry  protests,  to  that  new 
country  then  unveiling  its  young,  raw  face  to  a 
bewildered  world.  Perhaps,  too,  he  felt  the  re- 
bellion which  stirred  in  the  uneasy  heart  of  Eng- 
land. At  any  rate,  he  left  the  country  with  a 
band  of  rovers,  and  never  returned.  From  this 
redoubtable  gentleman  sprang  that  branch  of  the 
family  of  which  Aveling  was  the  last  and  only 
representative. 

Aveling  was  a  typical  American,  devoid  of  even 
the  smallest  interest  in  his  fast-developing  des- 
tiny. He  was  young,  full  of  buoyant  spirits, 
and  as  keenly  alive  as  the  migrating  ancestor.  He 
always  listened  with  peals  of  laughter  to  the 
friends  who  at  times,  in  all  seriousness,  urged 


BETWEEN  TWO  WORLDS  25 

upon  him  considerations  of  the  thinning  wall  about 
the  English  estate. 

By  one  of  those  fatalities  which  make  even  the 
hardiest  feel  the  stirrings  of  superstitious  dread, 
the  four  lives  between  were  swept  away  in  the 
short  space  of  four  months.  An  English  law- 
yer, very  dignified  and  taciturn,  brought  the  news 
to  the  heir.  Shocked  and  startled  out  of  himself 
as  Aveling  was,  he  first  had  desperate  ideas  of 
renouncing  the  succession.  But  after  reflection 
sobered  this  extravagance,  and  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, he  and  his  bride  set  sail  for  England. 

Here  Kent's  knowledge  ceased,  except  for 
vague  rumors  reaching  him  at  times  that  Avel- 
ing had  turned  forgetful  of  old  friends.  These 
he  always  stoutly  denied,  and,  when  the  letter 
from  Roxmoor  arrived,  it  stilled  uneasy  suspi- 
cion, and  he  sailed  away  with  a  light  heart. 

Kent,  sunk  deep  in  musing,  leaned  his  head 
against  the  chair.  The  fire  leaped  like  a  thing 
of  volition.  The  corners  of  the  room  were  blot- 
ted in  shadow.  A  few  candles  starred  the  gloom. 
He  seemed  in  a  very  sea  of  silence,  with  Aveling's 
passionate  questionings  about  the  human  destiny 
beating  in  his  brain.  Why  were  these  things  mat- 
ters of  such  burning  interest,  things  which  a  year 
ago  were  scoffed  at?  Aveling  was  vitally  inter- 
ested in  the  possibility  of  communication  with  the 
dead.  This  lively  concern  had  sprung  up  after 


26  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

coming  to  Roxmoor,  as  if  his  change  of  attitude 
had  its  sole  inspiration  there.  Every  word  and 
act  of  his  indicated  some  unusual  relation  between 
the  master  and  the  place. 

Kent  fell  to  thinking  more  intently.  Why 
should  the  old  castle,  mere  shell  of  man's  doings, 
create  any  human  passion?  But,  as  the  thought 
crossed  his  mind,  the  dignity  of  this  warden  of 
the  past  rebuked  him,  for  the  majesty  of  ages 
marked  its  form  and  boundaries.  This  hoary 
shape  of  stone  was  more  than  a  man-made  shel- 
ter; it  grew  to  meet  human  needs,  registering  the 
growth  and  death  of  many  lives.  The  colossal 
foundations  were  laid  by  the  terror  of  rude  times. 
The  frowning  battlements  rose  to  meet  enmity  and 
strife.  Every  detail  about  it  was  shaped  by  the 
need  of  the  life  it  sheltered,  as  a  bird,  beak,  claw, 
and  wing,  is  shaped  by  its  daily  habit. 

At  this  point,  Kent's  imaginings  rose  higher. 
Everything  that  lived  and  died  within  this  habi- 
tation left  some  trace  of  its  physical  being.  Then 
why  should  man  ignorantly  believe  that  the  strug- 
gles of  the  spirit  leave  no  trace?  Shall  physical 
need  stamp  an  immortal  shape,  and  the  cry  of 
the  soul  go  unheard?  It  could  not  be  that  life 
would  so  deny  the  dignity  of  the  spirit.  The  place 
was  alive  with  the  vibrations  of  human  feeling, — 
of  love  and  hate,  joy  and  woe,  pointing  signifi- 
cantly to  the  shadow  that  cast  its  gruesome 


BETWEEN  TWO  WORLDS  27 

length  over  the  latest  born  of  the  Avelings.  Some 
human  grief  had  outlived  the  past,  and  struggled 
to  be  heard. 

As  these  speculations  shifted  in  Kent's  brain, 
he  felt  again  that  odd  drugging  of  the  senses 
which  befell  him  with  the  first  sight  of  Aveling's 
face.  Perhaps  it  might  contain  a  hint  of  the 
blight  which  overhung  the  manor.  With  a  con- 
scious giving  over  to  the  mysterious  influence, 
Kent  sank  into  his  chair.  A  deadly  silence  fell. 
Dim  memories  and  dreams  of  memories  began  to 
shift.  The  firelight  sank.  The  shadows  crept 
stealthily  from  their  lair  upon  the  motionless  fig- 
ure in  the  chair.  A  slight  wind  rose  outside,  and 
shook  the  heavy  shutters.  Kent  suddenly  bounded 
to  his  feet.  He  had  a  sharp  impression  that  some 
one  stood  beside  him.  The  fire  had  fallen  so  low 
it  cast  only  a  circle  of  dull  red  about  the  hearth. 
The  candles  had  sunk  to  tiny  sparks.  He  stood 
for  a  moment,  straining  his  eyes  as  he  leaned 
forward.  The  uncanny  feeling  remained. 

"  Ned — is  that  you  ?  "  his  voice  floated  off,  a 
sepulchral  echo  of  his  usual  full  tones.  Not  a 
sound  returned.  As  he  stood,  there  came  a  grad- 
ual fading  of  the  stealthy  presence,  until  he  once 
more  felt  alone. 

With  a  mingled  feeling  of  dismay  and  in- 
credulity, he  waited,  listening.  Although  he  heard 
nothing,  there  was  the  sense  of  retreating  foot- 


28  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

steps.  He  started  forward,  and  turned  on  a  flare 
of  light.  It  flooded  the  room.  No  one  was  to 
be  seen.  He  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  out 
into  the  corridor.  A  few  lights  burned  low.  A 
servant  was  passing  through,  carrying  a  candle. 

"  Did — has — has — Mr.  Aveling  retired  ?  "  stum- 
bled Kent. 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  left  'im  'aalf  asleep  just  now." 

It  was  an  honest  English  face,  but,  as  Kent 
looked,  a  half-amused  scrutiny  came  into  it.  The 
man  spoke  again.  "  My  name  is  Watson,  sir.  I 
am  Mr.  Aveling's  man.  'E  told  me  to  walk  down 
the  corridor,  and  see  if  everything  was  right  for 
you." 

Kent  felt  abashed.  How  could  he  tell  these 
intangible  terrors  to  an  English  valet?  "  There 
is  a  shutter  outside  my  window  that  makes  a  con- 
founded racket.  I  don't  understand  the  fasten- 
ings." 

"  I'll  see  to  it,  sir." 

The  man  came  in,  and  adjusted  the  shutter 
Kent  pointed  out.  "  I  never  could  stand  a  rat- 
tling shutter,"  lied  Kent,  slipping  a  piece  of  silver 
into  the  man's  hand.  He  saw  the  slightest  flick 
of  an  eyelash. 

"  Maaster  caan't  abide  a  rattlin'  shutter,"  said 
the  man,  as  he  vanished. 

Kent  closed  the  door,  and  turned  away.  His 
own  face,  alert  and  strained,  suddenly  confronted 


BETWEEN  TWO  WORLDS  29 

him.  He  put  up  his  hand  to  brush  away  this 
phantasmal  vision  of  himself.  It  struck  the  wing 
of  a  folding  mirror,  which  had  swung  open. 

Overbalanced  by  this  trivial  occurrence,  Kent, 
for  one  horrified  moment,  was  suspended  between 
two  worlds.  His  speculations  had  gathered  about 
the  subtleties  of  mind  and  thought;  and,  behold, 
out  of  the  air,  there  had  risen  the  veritable  sub- 
stance of  a  human  personality.  He  felt  still  the 
pressure  of  that  unseen  presence  upon  his  quiv- 
ering nerves.  He  cast  a  swift  glance  about  the 
room.  It  was  empty.  With  a  mighty  effort,  he 
braced  himself  against  the  clamor  of  his  senses. 
"  Pshaw !  I  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed,"  he  said 
doggedly. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    DANGER    IN    THE    CASTLE 

THE  morning  sunshine  and  fresh  English  air 
were  streaming  in  at  Kent's  casement  when  he 
awoke.  The  room  overlooked  a  garden,  and  he 
looked  out  with  delight,  from  the  deep  embrasure, 
upon  the  first  sunny  thing  he  had  seen  about  the 
place.  It  was  an  old  English  garden,  enclosed 
with  yew  hedges,  blazing  with  the  flowers  of  late 
summer.  Tiger-lilies  hung  in  clusters  of  tawny 
beauty,  imaging  the  spirit  of  a  dreamy  East.  A 
bed  of  poppies,  that  spoke  of  drowsy  syrups, 
spread  out  shallow  cups  of  red  and  white.  Kent 
turned  impatiently  away.  Even  there  his  mind 
seemed  unaccountably  to  run  along  the  track  of 
mystery  and  passion. 

As  this  thought  flashed  upon  him,  Kent's  feel- 
ing changed,  his  scorn  of  last  night's  fears  put 
down  by  the  constant  presence  of  some  mystery. 
There  was  more  in  Ned's  problem  than  could  be 
accounted  for  by  his  change  of  living.  A  curious 
thrill  shot  through  Kent.  Was  it  possible  that 
Aveling  was  in  any  trouble?  He  could  imagine 
nothing  within  the  range  of  probability.  Aveling 

30 


THE  DANGER  IN  THE  CASTLE      31 

seemed  safe  and  secure,  surrounded  by  wealth  and 
ease.  But  something  had  befallen  this  expatri- 
ated pair,  and,  as  they  both  preserved  the  deep- 
est reticence,  he  thought  it  might  be  well  to  recon- 
noitre a  little  before  blundering  into  the  subject 
with  questions  which  neither  one  might  want  to 
answer.  There  be  many  things  undreamed  in  the 
philosophy  of  an  American  business  man,  Kent 
dryly  remembered,  and  he  prepared  for  closer 
observation. 

He  passed  through  the  corridors  with  watchful 
senses.  The  transformation  in  himself  gave  value 
even  to  trifles.  The  heavily  beamed  ceiling  over- 
head, almost  lost  in  the  shadow,  and  the  pon- 
derous stonework,  were  still  sombre  and  severe, 
but  less  human  in  the  daylight,  which  struggled 
through  leaded  casements  set  deep  in  thick  walls. 
It  came  to  Kent  fantastically  as  the  light  of  a  late 
century,  seeking  to  pierce  the  darkness  of  an 
old  one. 

He  paused  a  moment  at  the  stairhead.  His 
glance  leaped  down  the  splendor  of  the  ancient 
hallway.  The  fairy  glow  of  last  night  had  van- 
ished, and  left  it  gloomy.  Old  armor  hung  upon 
the  walls,  and  trophies  of  by-gone  sport.  An 
immense  hooded  fireplace  yawned  black  and  empty. 
The  floor  was  heavily  paved  with  stout  stone 
blocks.  It  was  silent  and  empty  as  a  tomb.  Not 
a  sign  of  life  could  be  seen  within  its  chill  ex- 


32  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

tent.  Not  even  the  dance  of  sunbeams  on  the 
floor.  It  had  a  curious  effect  of  arrested  life,  as 
if  here,  like  the  still  centre  of  a  cyclone,  was  a 
spot  of  death  in  the  whirl  of  a  busy,  late  century. 

Kent  went  on  down  the  stairs.  He  suddenly 
stopped,  chilled  to  the  bone.  For,  not  two  feet 
away,  stood  the  still  form  of  Aveling,  near  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  His  hands  were  folded  quietly 
over  each  other  on  the  heavy  oak  balustrade. 
With  the  swiftness  of  strained  attention,  Kent 
noticed  how  still  and  wax-like  they  looked  on  the 
dark  wood,  as  if  life  and  volition  had  retreated 
out  of  them.  The  whole  man,  staring  fixedly  at 
some  object  beyond  Kent's  line  of  vision,  seemed 
as  lifeless  as  the  coats  of  mail,  which  here  and 
there  stood  in  empty  mockery. 

For  a  moment  Kent's  stillness  matched  Avel- 
ing's.  Then  he  crept  silently  up  a  few  steps. 
Aveling  retained  his  death-like  attitude.  Kent 
struck  into  a  blithe  song  from  one  of  the  late 
operas,  clattered  loudly  down  the  stairs,  and, 
turning  abruptly  at  the  bottom,  effected  a  neat 
collision  with  the  figure  leaning  against  the  bal- 
ustrade. Aveling  tottered,  as  a  stone  image  with- 
out the  power  of  balance  might  have  done.  Kent 
caught  the  swaying  form. 

"  Steady  on,  Ned.  I  was  so  busy  with  that  con- 
founded trill "  Kent  went  on,  pouring  out  a 

stream  of  talk  until  a  look  of  intelligence  emerged 


THE  DANGER  IN  THE  CASTLE      33 

in  Aveling's  face,  followed  by  a  faint  smile  about 
his  white  lips.  He  shook  himself,  as  if  waking 
from  a  sleep,  and  with  a  brusque  word  or  two, 
started  for  the  Red  Parlor.  Something  white 
flashed  out  of  a  distant  corner  across  Kent's  vi- 
sion. He  glanced  back.  It  was  Mrs.  Aveling's 
face.  Her  pallor  was  made  ghastly  by  the  cav- 
ernous, horror-struck  eyes  that  steadily  followed 
Aveling.  Kent  turned  hastily  away;  the  pallid 
face  seemed  to  drift  before  him.  Here,  at  least, 
was  painted  something  tangible, — chilling,  para- 
lyzing fear.  Perhaps,  it  might  be  possible  to 
gain  some  useful  hint  from  her. 

**  I  wonder  where  Aline  is,"  said  Aveling  irri- 
tably, glancing  about  the  Red  Parlor  as  they 
entered. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  blandly  lied  Kent. 

She  appeared  in  a  few  moments,  and  break- 
fast was  immediately  announced.  Aveling  looked 
closely  at  her  across  the  table. 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  red  cheeks, 
dear?  " 

Kent  saw  the  quick  color  rise  under  the  rouge. 
But  she  rallied  instantly.  Her  look  met  Avel- 
ing's with  steady  control.  "  Why,  Ned,  I  believe 
the  climate  affects  my  skin.  They  say,  Mr.  Kent, 
the  English  color  is  an  affair  of  climate."  The 
tense  animation  of  her  face  sought  Kent's  with 
an  appeal. 


34  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"That's  just  what  I  think,"  he  said,  with 
hearty  interest.  "  Perhaps  you  have  noticed  that 
the  people  in  our  western  states  all  have  a  bleached 
appearance.  I  spent  a  whole  summer  in  the 
West."  He  met  her  appeal. 

"  Oh,  you  did ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  feverish 
cordiality.  "  Won't  you  tell  us  about  it?  I  have 
never  been  West." 

Kent  beamed.  "  Will  you  really  listen  ?  I 
never  before  found  any  one  who  would.  You 
can't  imagine  how  brutal  a  human  being  can  be, 
unless  you  try  to  tell  him  about  your  travels. 
Your  very  unique  and  interesting  travels,  Mr.  Ned 
Aveling,"  he  finished  loudly. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  mind  hearing  you  talk,  Kent, 
but  you  will  quote  poetry." 

"  The  trouble  is,  Ned,  you're  daft  as  a  French- 
man about  fitness.  You  won't  take  poetry,  unless 
it's  bound  in  morocco,  presented  beside  a  fire,  with 
you  at  beautiful  ease  in  a  cushioned  chair." 

"  Well !  When  a  man  stops  a  hair-breadth 
climb  among  the  Rockies  to  quote  Browning,  it's 
the  plain  man's  time  to  say  things." 

Aveling's  eyes  were  blazing,  and  a  flush  had 
crept  upon  his  cheeks.  Some  halting  of  the  serv- 
ice caused  Mrs.  Aveling  to  look  up.  She  saw  the 
impassive  man  who  served  the  meal  staring  in 
blank  amazement  at  his  master.  The  flow  of  talk 
went  on  until  a  loud,  ringing  peal  of  laughter  fell 


THE  DANGER  IN  THE  CASTLE      35 

from  Aveling's  lips.  This  was  instantly  followed 
by  a  crash  of  china. 

"Why— hullo!  What's  up?"  asked  Aveling, 
watching  the  flushed  servant  gather  up  the  frag- 
ments of  shattered  china.  Then  he  looked  ab- 
sently across  the  table.  "  I  believe  I  never 
laughed  before — in  Roxmoor." 

Mrs.  Aveling  drooped,  and  did  not  speak,  and 
Kent,  after  a  quick  survey  of  Aveling's  absent 
face,  plunged  into  the  silence  with  a  garrulous 
reminiscence  of  an  expedition  to  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains to  hunt  for  grizzlies.  After  a  few  moments, 
Aveling  showed  signs  of  interest,  and  presently 
gave  his  tale  a  close  and  interested  attention. 
When  they  rose  to  leave  the  table,  he  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  the  unhappy  memory  spurred  by 
the  incident  of  the  broken  china.  But  on  Mrs. 
Aveling's  white  cheeks,  two  spots  of  vivid  red 
stood  out. 

After  breakfast,  they  loitered  awhile  in  the  Red 
Parlor.  Then  Aveling  rose.  "  Come  on,  Kent, 
let's  take  a  little  run  through  the  house." 

"  All  right.     I'm  your  boy." 

He  noticed  an  anxious  look  cross  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing's face,  but  she  kept  silent.  In  the  hope  she 
might  say  something  to  him,  Kent  contrived  to 
leave  the  room  last.  As  he  approached  the  door, 
he  saw  her  crouched  close  beside  it.  She  leaned 
forward  when  he  passed  her,  saying  in  a 


36  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

low  voice,  "  Be  careful  of  him,  The  Italian 
Wing!" 

Kent  went  on,  muttering  to  himself.  "  The 
Italian  Wing!  Now  I  wonder  is  it  black  or  white 
or  colored,  and  how  in  Heaven's  name  would  a 
man  hope  to  know  it?  Wings  don't  sound  dan- 
gerous to  me.  Kent,  you  don't  know  this  game." 

But,  in  spite  of  his  grim  humor,  a  chill  crept 
upon  him.  His  speculations  had  received  an 
answer.  Danger  lurked  somewhere  in  the  castle ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   ITALIAN    WING 

AVELING  crossed  the  court  which  formed  the 
central  hall,  and  climbed  the  great  stairs.  He 
unlocked  a  door  opening  upon  the  upper  gallery, 
and  let  Kent  through.  Then  they  traversed  a 
series  of  corridors,  with  rooms  on  every  side. 
Aveling  was  growing  serious  again.  His  manner 
became  more  stately  as  he  stopped  occasionally 
to  recite  events  connected  with  the  history  of  the 
house.  The  castle  interior  showed  everywhere 
marks  of  turbulent  times.  The  size  of  it  was 
enormous.  A  town  might  comfortably  lodge 
within  its  walls. 

They  had  reached  a  sort  of  enclosed  court, 
which  overlooked  a  range  of  three  galleries.  Avel- 
ing was  telling  of  some  riots  which  occurred 
there  in  Bloody  Mary's  reign,  and  martyrdoms 
that  led  to  the  closing  of  this  portion  as  accursed. 
His  voice  rose  weirdly  in  the  recital. 

Kent  coolly  surveyed  the  place.  "  I  say,  Ned, 
why  don't  you  rent  out  some  of  these  streets? 
The  place  wants  livening." 

87 


38  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Aveling  gasped.  "  I  say,  Kent,  your  bump  of 
reverence  wants  looking  after." 

But  the  shot  told.  His  gloom  lifted,  and  his 
voice  became  natural,  to  Kent's  unmeasured  sur- 
prise. "  I  guess  that  Wing  flopped,"  he  said, 
to  himself.  "  But  why,  in  nature,  is  it  danger- 
ous?" 

Kent  grew  more  absorbed  as  they  went  deeper 
into  the  endless  corridors.  He  studied,  with 
thoughtful  care,  the  various  eras  superimposed 
upon  each  other,  directing  especial  attention  to 
the  main  building  from  which  the  wings  spread 
out.  Aveling  was  telling  him  that  this  was  the 
real  ancestral  home.  Its  date  was  unknown.  Only 
the  perfectly  traceable  family  line  gave  any  clue 
to  its  origin.  They  knew  it  was  standing  when 
the  Normans  trampled  the  Saxons  underfoot. 

They  had  penetrated  deep  into  the  remotest 
portion  of  the  castle.  Not  a  sound  came  from 
the  outside  world,  shut  away  by  walls  of  silence. 
They  were  standing  close  together,  when  some 
strange  uneasiness  began  to  fret  Kent,  some  curi- 
ous longing.  He  glanced  at  Aveling,  who  was 
staring  at  an  old  panelled  wall,  black  with  age, 
and  unbroken  by  door  or  window.  Kent  found 
the  spot  upon  which  Aveling's  eye  was  fixed.  A 
panel  exactly  like  the  others.  On  closer  inspec- 
tion, it  seemed  to  fit  a  little  more  loosely. 

All  at  once,  a  curious  thing  happened  to  Kent. 


THE  ITALIAN  WING  39 

He  felt  something  like  an  electric  current  nip 
his  tingling  nerves;  and  presently,  along  that 
track,  there  stole  thoughts  and  feelings  which 
amazed  him.  Silently  he  moved,  until  he  touched 
Aveling's  shoulder,  and  together  they  were  swept 
into  a  mood  of  smouldering  passion.  Aveling  was 
breathing  loudly,  and  Kent  plainly  felt  the  pres- 
sure of  some  grim  force  which  Aveling  held  des- 
perately at  bay. 

Kent's  loose  thoughts  began  to  string  together. 
Some  organizing  power  flowed  toward  him  from 
the  aging  pile  of  stone  and  wood,  and  gathered 
round  the  ghostly  encounter  in  his  room  last 
night.  The  haunted  structure  held  something 
like  a  belated  traveller  from  the  past,  and  Avel- 
ing, caught  in  its  grip,  was  hastening  to  unfore- 
seen ends.  Kent  resolved  to  gain  something  from 
the  moment.  He  raised  his  hand,  pointing  to  the 
loose  panel. 

"Ned,  is  that  a  secret  door?" 
"  Yes.     It  leads  to  the  Italian  Wing." 
By  Heaven,  he  had  stumbled  on  it!    He  paused 
a  moment,  irresolute.  How  could  he  let  the  chance 
slip  to  explore  the  secret?     And  yet,  how  dared 
he  risk  a  danger  he  did  not  understand?     Mrs. 
Aveling  had   told  him  to  beware  of  the   Wing. 
Aveling  crossed  the  floor,   and  opened  a  heavy 
shutter. 

"  You  can  see  it  from  here,"  he  said. 


40  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent  followed  to  the  window,  and,  looking  out 
upon  a  long  wing,  saw,  like  an  excrescence  upon 
it,  a  garden  front,  interrupting  awkwardly  the 
splendid  lines  of  an  otherwise  consistent  whole. 
It  was  close  shut  and  barred. 

"  It  looks  like  an  addition,"  he  ventured,  con- 
sumed with  curiosity. 

"  It  was  built  for  the  homesick  bride  of  a  Mid- 
dle Age  Aveling.  She  was  an  Italian." 

But  this  told  Kent  nothing  of  the  danger  which 
haunted  the  Wing.  To  save  him,  he  could  not 
help  the  words  that  followed :  "  Are  we  going  in  ? 
It  looks  as  if  I'd  like  it." 

Aveling's  face  became  an  inscrutable  mask. 
He  drew  into  a  rigid  posture,  and,  putting  out  a 
hand,  mechanically  closed  the  shutter  and  locked 
it.  Kent,  bitterly  repenting  his  rash  words,  saw 
him  move  toward  the  panel  and  pause  before  it, 
making  a  motion  as  if  to  touch  the  spring.  Then, 
suddenly,  with  a  visible  wrench  of  his  whole  being, 
he  tore  himself  away,  and,  quickly  crossing  the 
floor,  opened  a  door,  disclosing  a  winding  stair- 
case. A  slight  paleness  and  a  quick-drawn,  silent 
breath  betrayed  that  he  had  ventured  near  some 
danger. 

"  This  leads  to  the  battlements  overhead,"  he 
said  formally.  "  The  view  is  superb." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    BTJBDEN 

ON  the  fourth  day  after  Kent's  arrival,  Mrs. 
Aveling  came  in  from  a  drive  with  a  light  on 
her  face  he  had  not  seen  before.  "  Oh,  Ned,"  she 
began,  "who  do  you  suppose  is  here?  Betty 
Gary  is  visiting  Lady  Melton.  I  just  went  over 
by  accident.  She  said  she  wanted  to  surprise 
me." 

Through  the  happy  ripple  of  words  that  fol- 
lowed, Kent  learned  that  this  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Aveling's  girlhood  friends,  and  that  they  were 
all  coming  to  dinner  the  next  night.  Aveling  was 
interested  at  once,  and  suggested  a  few  additions 
to  the  party.  Kent  gathered,  from  the  talk 
which  followed,  that  they  were  on  very  good  terms 
with  the  neighborhood.  The  Melton  family  were 
blood  relations,  and  James  Carew  was  a  close 
friend  of  the  late  master  of  Roxmoor. 

"  We  want  you  to  know  our  new  friends,"  said 
Mrs.  Aveling,  turning  to  Kent. 

"  Is  it  to  be  very  formal  ?  Will  I  be  very  much 
frightened  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no !  Our  dinner  parties  are  never  formal. 
41 


42  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

We  try  to  keep  some  of  the  dear  old  American 
ways,"  she  said,  with  a  shadow  on  her  face.  "  You 
will  like  Lady  Melton, — she  is  lovely.  And  you 
will  just  love  Betty,"  she  finished  earnestly. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
girl  I  didn't  love?" 

She  got  up,  with  a  peal  of  laughter,  and  went 
out.  They  heard  her  singing  as  she  went.  Even 
Aveling's  face  was  bright  and  eager.  The  slight- 
est shift  of  this  new  life,  with  its  solemn  digni- 
ties, eased  and  renewed  them  both. 

This  diversion  chanced  to  be  very  welcome  to 
Kent.  In  the  last  two  days  Aveling  had  gone 
through  many  changes  of  mood  which  Kent 
feigned  not  to  see.  He  noticed,  with  some  an- 
noyance, that  his  own  moods  conformed  strangely 
to  Aveling's  capricious  ones.  His  even  spirits 
were  never  used  to  run  very  high.  But  neither 
did  they  sink  into  these  deeps  of  heaviness  and 
apprehension.  He  tried  to  evade  them,  with  angry 
scorn,  but  they  bestrode  his  consciousness  like 
an  old  man  of  the  sea,  for  Mrs.  Aveling's  warn- 
ing about  the  Italian  Wing,  together  with  his  own 
experiences,  pointed  to  some  uneasiness  associated 
closely  with  the  house.  Kent  felt  a  gathering 
curiosity  on  that  point.  He  felt  it  to  be  neces- 
sary to  proceed  with  some  caution.  He  was  only 
a  guest  in  the  house,  and  might  easily  become 
an  officious  meddler.  But  a  vague  fear  prowled 


THE  BURDEN  43 

in  the  background  of  his  thoughts.  He  had  had 
no  warning,  before  he  came,  that  anything  was 
amiss,  except  for  the  idle  gossip  he  had  swept 
impatiently  aside.  Henshaw's  queer  actions  at 
the  steamer  returned  with  sinister  meaning.  It 
was  evident  to  Kent  that  the  general  public  was 
familiar  with  a  range  of  facts  unknown  to  him. 

He,  therefore,  eagerly  looked  forward  to  the 
dinner,  with  the  hope  of  gaining  some  useful 
knowledge  concerning  the  mystery  which  sur- 
rounded Aveling.  These  strange  moods  could  not 
be  caused  by  the  unaccustomed  splendor  of  his 
new  life.  Kent's  study  of  psychic  research  pointed 
to  the  influence  of  something  deeper.  It  was  a 
commonly  accepted  fact,  among  the  students  of 
this  science,  that  old  houses  may  cause  a  change 
of  character.  Something  like  this  must  have  oc- 
curred. But  in  such  cases  it  was  always  some 
definite  emotion  that  was  aroused, — fear,  anger, 
sorrow, — something  that  would  point  the  way  to 
a  definite  cause.  Here  Kent  hoped  for  light  from 
that  meeting  with  Aveling's  friends. 

When  the  evening  came,  he  watched,  with  every 
sense  alert,  to  catch  even  the  straw's  betrayal,  as 
the  rooms  began  to  fill.  It  was  a  somewhat  mixed 
company,  with  a  strong  infusion  of  American 
ideals.  There  were  heads  of  county  families  of 
more  or  less  importance ;  a  clergyman  or  two,  and 
Dr.  Warren,  the  family  physician,  whom  Kent  had 


44  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

met  before.  They  renewed  the  acquaintance,  now, 
with  some  interest. 

The  butler  threw  back  the  carved  doors. 

"  Lord  and  Lady  Melton." 

Kent  caught  these  two  names  with  deep  interest, 
and  bent  a  close  inspection  upon  the  tall  beauty 
emerging  from  the  doorway.  Her  robes  fell 
about  her  graceful  movements  with  statuesque 
simplicity.  At  her  neck  and  wrists  sparkled  the 
wonderful  Melton  diamonds.  If  she  knew  any- 
thing of  the  uneasiness  at  Roxmoor,  there  were 
no  signs  of  it  in  her  words  of  greeting.  This  Lady 
Melton  might  prove  to  be  an  admirable  person, 
thought  Kent. 

This  interesting  lady  was  followed  by  a  tall, 
fresh-faced  man.  Under  the  cover  of  Lady  Mel- 
ton's lively  flow  of  words,  the  stranger  directed 
a  look,  sharp  as  a  lance,  at  Aveling,  who  was 
talking  with  Lady  Melton.  It  struck  Kent  that 
Aveling  looked  particularly  pale  to-night.  There 
was  a  hint  of  something  imperious  and  haughty 
in  his  bearing. 

He  was  a  little  surprised  to  see  this  formal 
manner  soften  somewhat^  as  Aveling  called  out 
to  him.  The  faintest  hint  of  something  instantly 
suppressed  betrayed  Lady  Melton's  studied  gayety. 
Kent  noticed  a  fleeting  exchange  of  look  between 
this  titled  pair  whom  he  was  summoned  to  meet, 
as  if  his  presentation  bore  some  significance.  His 


THE  BURDEN  45 

penetration  was  utterly  baffled.  He  bowed  over 
the  slim  grace  of  the  beautiful  hand  that  Lady 
Melton  held  out  to  him. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Kent.  Rox- 
moor  has  been  shut  away  from  us  all  for  so  long. 
It  seems  so  good  to  see  it  full  of  life  again." 

Kent  failed  to  read  what  lay  behind  the  sim- 
ple words.  An  admirable  person,  this  Lady  Mel- 
ton. He  could  not  pierce  her  light  calm  any  more 
than  he  could  part  the  Red  Sea. 

"  Full  of  life !  "  he  repeated,  with  a  ruminating 
air.  "  Full  of  life.  Does  that  mean  me  ?  I  had 
no  idea  I  was  so — expansive." 

Lady  Melton  fanned  her  cheerful  face,  with  the 
frank  smile  upon  it.  "  Oh,  I  knew  at  once  that 
you  were  what  Roxmoor  needed." 

Kent  was  looking  keenly  at  her  as  she  spoke. 
Something  began  to  dawn  back  of  those  frank 
eyes.  She  slowly  transferred  them  to  Aveling,  and 
back  to  Kent,  and,  as  he  looked,  the  Red  Sea 
parted ! 

When  dinner  was  announced,  there  was  some 
shifting  among  the  groups.  Kent  found  himself 
beside  the  young  American  girl,  looking  down  the 
long  table.  The  wax-lights  sent  a  soft  glow  out 
to  the  shadowy  Aveling  hanging  in  solemn  state 
over  the  mantel-piece.  Kent's  glance,  by  acci- 
dent, rested  upon  Aveling,  and  he  started.  He 
had  not  noticed,  before,  how  closely  Aveling's  face 


46  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

followed  the  ancestral  type;  that  high,  polished 
brow,  that  backward  sweep  of  hair,  that  proud 
cut  of  feature.  The  high,  almost  haughty  lift  of 
countenance  he  wore  to-night  gave  it  that  inde- 
finable set  by  which  the  same  features  wear  so 
many  shapes. 

Kent  became  dimly  aware  that  his  neighbor  was 
not  insensible  to  these  intangible  stirrings.  She 
was  making  uneasy,  fluttered  movements. 

"  Mr.  Kent,  don't  you  think  these  old  feudal 
castles  would  be  uncanny — if  you  lived  in  them?  " 

Kent  was  wondering  if  she  had  noticed  his  pre- 
occupation, and  felt  annoyed. 

"  I  like  the  way  you  qualify  your  idea,"  he 
lightly  returned. 

A  word  from  Aveling  caught  Kent's  ear.  Sir 
James  Carew  was  telling  of  the  old  Roxmoor 
days.  It  was  evident  he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  that 
Aveb'ng  was  leading  him  on.  Kent  vainly  tried 
to  hear. 

"  Are  your  spirits  affected  by  them  ?  "  Kent 
turned  again  to  his  neighbor.  Her  face  wore  a 
bewildered,  half-frightened  look. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is  that  affects  them, — 

but "  She  glanced  hurriedly  at  Aveling,  and 

turned  again  to  Kent.  "  Why,  Melton  Abbey  does 
not  affect  me  so." 

Evidently  Lord  Melton  kept  his  impressions  to 
himself. 


THE  BURDEN  47 

"  Do  you — don't  you — feel  it,  living  here?  " 
she  whispered. 

"  Oh,  I'm  the  most  unimpressionable  person 
alive.  I  should  dearly  love  to  meet  a  flesh-and- 
blood  ghost." 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  not  flesh  and  blood.  That's 
just  the  trouble,"  with  a  rueful  attempt  to  fol- 
low his  light  mood. 

"  Then,  dear  lady,  how  can  they  affect  us 
much?  "  he  said,  in  a  teasing  tone. 

She  flashed  a  baffled  look  at  him.  "  I  would 
know  you  were  an  American  if  I  met  you  on  the 
Pyramids,"  her  red  lips  pouted. 

" they  bear  the  marks  of  history  and  ex- 
perience, as  plainly  as  a  biological  specimen  car- 
ries its  ancestry  among  its  curves  and  wrinkles." 

Aveling's  voice,  like  a  deep-toned  bell,  struck 
every  one  into  silence,  with  a  pomp  and  solemnity 
that  startled  Kent.  Everybody  looked  at  Avel- 
ing  with  a  fearing  expression  which  lent  their 
faces  a  curious  similarity. 

"  Then  you  think  that  houses  contain  inef- 
faceable records  of  the  lives  that  have  been  lived 
in  them."  Lord  Melton  spoke  with  a  certain  dry 
detachment. 

Aveling's  face  was  dark,  but  it  glowed  dully. 

"  I  do.  How  do  you  otherwise  account " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  began  afresh,  with  a 
steely  change  of  tone.  "  All  houses  have  their 


48  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

atmosphere.  We  feel  it," — his  voice  sank. 
"We  obey  it!" 

The  silence  was  oppressive.  Aveling's  manner 
had  acquired  a  tragic  significance.  A  slight  ac- 
cession of  his  stately  calm  produced  that  name- 
less alteration  Kent  was  learning  to  dread. 

Lady  Melton's  silken  draperies  gave  out  a  faint 
rustle.  She  glanced  at  Mrs.  Aveling.  "  I  don't 
think  I  agree  with  you,"  she  said.  "  It  seems 
to  me  to  be  an  effect  made  upon  the  mind  by 
mere  age,  and  transferred  artificially  to  the  thing. 
Oh,  you  needn't  laugh !  "  She  suddenly  turned  to 
Lord  Melton,  who  was  making  extravagant  ges- 
tures of  dismay.  He  rolled  up  his  eyes. 

"  That  ever  I  should  hear  Lady  Melton  formu- 
late scientific  theories,"  he  breathlessly  exclaimed. 

Aveling  bent  toward  her  suddenly,  with  a  pale 
intensity  of  countenance,  completely  ignoring  the 
lead  into  less  dangerous  channels  of  talk. 

"  But,  Lady  Melton,  consider  the  array  of  facts. 
It  is  a  matter  of  scientific  evidence  that  a  house 
carries  its  influence  as  distinctly  as  a  person.  We 
sometimes  fall  under  the  spell  of  a  living  man, 
and  are  swayed  against  our  will.  And  now  sci- 
ence tells  us  that  a  man  may  die,  and  yet  the 
agony  and  joy  of  his  life  remain;  even  the  very 
elements  of  personality  survive  bodily  wreck." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  deadly  earnestness 
of  Aveling's  mood.  It  was  not  a  theory  he  was 


THE  BURDEN  49 

putting  forth,  but  a  grim,  personal  experience, 
a  fact  he  meant  that  every  one  should  understand. 

Lady  Melton  crumbled  a  bit  of  bread.  But 
she  did  not  look  again  at  Mrs.  Aveling.  She  knew 
only  too  well  the  mixture  of  emotions  that  was 
gathering  upon  her  pale  face.  She  dropped  the 
bread,  and  directed  a  startled  look  at  Aveling,  al- 
lowing an  expression  of  mock  horror  to  dawn 
slowly  upon  her  face.  "  For  goodness'  sake !  Do 
you  suppose  there  is  any  danger  of  my  following 
the  pious  shades  of  dead  and  gone  Meltons  into 
their  nunneries  and  monasteries?  They  were  un- 
comfortably pious,  you  know." 

Everybody  laughed.  It  even  pierced  Aveling*s 
deadly  seriousness,  and  the  conversation  became 
lighter. 

When  Kent  entered  the  drawing-room,  after 
dinner,  he  realized  that  Aveling's  mood  had 
changed,  for  as  his  host  went  through  the  rooms, 
exchanging  a  word  or  two  with  the  various  groups 
of  people  scattered  about,  his  old-time,  bantering 
gayety  seemed  to  emerge  and  obliterate  the  stately 
being  of  the  early  evening.  Kent  was  baffled. 

But  he  was  nearer  to  enlightenment  than  he 
dreamed.  He  was  standing  in  the  hall  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  ostensibly  talking  to  Lady  Carew, 
with  a  little  puzzled  wonder  at  Sir  James'  choice 
of  a  wife, — an  elfin  creature,  with  an  inordinate 
love  of  fanciful  dress.  She  tinkled  and  dangled 


50  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

with  ornaments.  She  overran  with  ruffles  and 
ruchings  and  frills.  She  made  quick,  bird-like 
motions,  with  arch  looks  and  coy  smiles.  Surely 
so  empty  a  piece  of  womanhood  he  had  seldom 
seen.  She  was  chattering  of  the  company,  the 
charms  of  Roxmoor,  so  weird, — the  Avelings,  the 
dear,  delightful  Americans. 

In  the  midst  of  her  vapid  talk  a  wave  of  stupe- 
fying emotion  swept  over  Kent.  He  was  standing 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  He  could  not  control 
a  start  of  surprise.  Was  that  a  portrait  of  Ned? 
As  he  looked,  the  mists  cleared  away,  and  he  saw 
an  old,  darkened  portrait  of  a  dead  and  gone  an- 
cestor, dressed  in  the  stately  robes  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  gorgeous  with  dangling  chains  and  jewels. 
As  Kent  continued  to  look,  he  wondered  how  he 
could  have  fancied  a  likeness  to  Ned  in  that  dark 
face  that  seemed  to  regard  the  merry  throng  from 
beneath  the  ashes  of  renunciation.  If  ever  a  hu- 
man face  showed  the  gnawing  of  remorse,  the  face 
of  the  old  Crusader  did.  And  yet,  as  he  looked, 
he  saw  again  the  very  person  of  the  man  who  had 
mysteriously  vanished  from  sight  the  first  evening. 

"  It  is  quite  puzzling,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Kent  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  Lady  Carew's  simpering 
prettiness.  "  Puzzling?  "  he  repeated.  "  Puz- 
zling? " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  suppose  you  find  it  so,"  with  an 
arch  look.  "  You  will,  no  doubt,  be  able  to  find 


THE  BURDEN  51 

out,  and  tell  us  at  once.  Americans  are  so  shock- 
ingly clever." 

What  in  time  is  she  driving  at?  thought  Kent. 
A  look  of  penetration,  rising  in  the  face  he  scanned, 
checked  his  thoughts. 

"  Can  tell  you  what,  may  I  ask,  Lady  Carew  ?  " 

A  deep  and  subtle  meaning  blazed  over  her  face. 
"  One  has  such  strange  impressions,  as  dear  Mr. 
Aveling  said."  Her  glance  shot  for  a  moment  to 
the  old  portrait  which  had  stirred  Kent  so  deeply. 
She  softly  stepped  nearer,  a  glow  in  her  witch- 
like  face.  "  Why  does  the  portrait  so  strangely 
change  him?  What  has  he  done  to  deserve  the 
burden  of  any  man's  remorse?" 

She  paused,  but  Kent,  stunned  by  the  implica- 
tion of  her  remarks,  did  not  reply.  There  was 
the  faintest  tinge  of  mockery  in  her  voice  as  she 
spoke  again.  "  I  am  sure  that  you  will  find  out 
at  once"  Some  one  spoke  to  her,  and  she  moved 
away,  leaving  Kent  in  the  whirl  of  a  bewildering 
idea.  Remorse!  Nothing  could  be  further  from 
Ned's  blameless  life.  What  could  it  mean? 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    VICAEIOUS    PENANCE 

LONG  after  the  last  guest  had  departed,  Avel- 
ing  sat  talking.  His  deadly  seriousness  had  gone. 
His  company  mood,  which  had  been  an  evident 
surprise  to  every  one,  mounted  higher,  and  kept 
Kent  a  silent  listener  late  into  the  night,  won- 
dering what  mysterious  turn  of  fate  linked  laugh- 
ing Ned  and  his  ancient  double.  When  they  sepa- 
rated for  the  night,  Kent,  ascending  the  stairs, 
glanced  back.  Aveling's  face  was  bright  and 
cheerful.  He  looked  almost  boyish  in  his  even- 
ing clothes.  He  threw  up  his  head  with  one  of 
his  flashing  smiles.  "  By  my  holidam,  man,  but 
it's  good  to  have  you  here !  " 

As  the  ancient  phrase  left  his  lips,  a  nameless 
change  fell  upon  the  bright  face.  Kent  paused, 
uncertain  whether  to  leave  him  or  no.  But,  as 
he  looked,  Aveling  turned  away,  and  walked 
slowly  out  of  sight.  Kent  went  on  to  his 
room. 

But  once  alone,  all  his  disquiet  returned,  with 
fresh  force,  as  he  went  over  the  amazing  events 

52 


A  VICARIOUS  PENANCE  53 

of  the  evening.  Ned  felt  and  obeyed  something 
pulling  at  him,  and  apparently  gave  it  the  im- 
portance of  a  personality.  Now  suppose  the  in- 
credible thing  could  happen ;  suppose  some  human 
drama,  some  acute  experience,  had  outlived  the 
man  who  set  it  in  motion,  and  lingered  through 
the  centuries  for  fresh  embodiment.  What  expe- 
rience could  be  sufficiently  vital  to  so  reverse  the 
ordinary  flow  of  events?  Nothing  in  Ned's  seiz- 
ures had  given  him  any  clue.  There  was  nothing 
but  a  mingling  of  fear  and  anger. 

But  here,  Lady  Carew's  hints  came  to  his  aid. 
For,  if  it  were  true  that  some  forgotten  Aveling 
had  dipped  his  life  so  deep  in  crime  as  to  raise 
a  perpetual  cry  of  penitence,  some  further  and 
more  insistent  form  of  it  should  come,  to  draw 
a  purpose  about  these  formless  episodes.  For 
that  it  would  move  to  a  definite  end,  Kent  did  not 
doubt. 

He  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  to  wake  again  to 
fresh  ponderings,  with  that  Face  following  him 
in  the  darkness.  He  sprang  up  at  last,  tormented 
by  his  thoughts,  which  stayed  with  heavy  insist- 
ence upon  Lady  Carew's  words.  Remorse,  and 
that  laughing  spirit!  It  was  incredible. 

When  the  first  streaks  of  dawn  began  to  invade 
his  room,  he  dressed,  meaning  to  go  down  and 
prowl  about  in  the  garden.  He  left  his  room,  and 


54  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

went  quietly  through  the  corridor,  pushing  open 
the  door  which  he  thought  led  to  the  garden,  and 
for  a  moment  was  too  surprised  to  move. 

He  was  in  a  small  chapel,  where  windows  let 
in  a  softly  tinted  light  that  only  half  revealed 
shapes  of  marble  and  shadowy  paintings  upon 
the  wall:  a  beautiful  and  fitting  place  for  soli- 
tary devotions.  He  advanced  further  up  a  side 
aisle,  marvelling  at  the  riches  each  moment  dis- 
closed. An  altar,  heavily  ornamented,  stood  at 
the  end.  He  moved  forward  to  examine  it,  and 
came  to  an  abrupt  pause,  for  Ned  Aveling,  still 
dressed  in  his  evening  clothes — the  merry  Ned 
whom  Kent  had  left  in  the  old  buoyancy  of  spirit 
some  five  hours  ago — knelt  in  the  gray  dawn, 
locked  in  some  awful  austerity  of  penance  or  peti- 
tion, as  the  knights  of  old  kept  a  vigil. 

Kent  crept  softly  nearer.  There  was  an  ap- 
palling stillness  about  the  kneeling  figure.  His 
profile  showed  deathly  white  against  the  shadow. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  straight  ahead.  Kent  could 
just  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  quick  breath,  and 
his  moving  lips.  There  was  a  deadly  intensity 
about  him  that  seemed  to  tell  of  some  struggle 
of  the  soul,  as  if  in  some  distant  chamber  of  it 
there  were  battlings  of  primeval  passions. 

Kent  fell  back  before  the  horror  that  rushed 
upon  him.  All  his  speculations  found  horrible 


A  VICARIOUS  PENANCE  55 

warrant  in  the  kneeling  figure.  It  was  no  mere 
mood  which  held  this  forceful  being  spell-bound; 
but  some  other  personality,  too  strong  for  death 
to  hold,  demanding  of  this  living  man  the  power 
to  create  an  act  of  penance. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    TWILIGHT    VISION 

AT  twilight  on  the  following  day,  Kent  was  at 
the  piano.  He  had  stolen  away  in  an  effort  to 
be  alone,  for  Aveling  dogged  him  everywhere. 
Kent  heard  him  approaching  now,  followed  by 
Mrs.  Aveling's  light  step.  They  halted  together 
on  the  threshold.  "  Will  we  bother  you,  if  we 
come  in  ?  "  Aveling  wistfully  asked. 

"  If  you'll  promise  not  to  mind  my  soulful 
flights  in  song,  I'll  try  to  stand  it,  Ned." 

Aveling  smiled,  and  dropped  heavily  into  a 
chair.  He  was  very  pale,  and  looked  exhausted. 
Mrs.  Aveling  pulled  a  stool  to  his  side,  and,  sink- 
ing into  it,  put  her  head  upon  his  knee.  He  be- 
gan to  smooth  her  hair,  absently  keeping  pace  with 
the  rhythm  of  Kent's  music. 

They  were  in  one  of  the  oldest  rooms  in  the 
wing  which  they  inhabited,  a  shabby  place,  evi- 
dently not  much  in  favor  with  late  generations. 
It  contained  a  collection  of  rare  music,  which 
promised  hours  of  delight  to  Kent.  The  yellowed 
sheets  filled  a  series  of  latticed  shelves,  running 
round  the  recess  in  which  the  piano  stood. 

5« 


A  TWILIGHT  VISION  57 

Kent's  hands  wandered  idly  over  the  keys.  He 
had  a  gift  for  improvisation,  and  in  the  twilight 
his  music  had  a  weird  and  penetrating  charm.  He 
was  thinking  of  last  night's  scene  in  the  chapel, 
and  unconsciously  his  mood  took  expression  on 
the  keys.  His  thoughts  were  in  confusion,  con- 
cerning the  cause  of  these  weird  occurrences  into 
which  Aveling  was  plunged.  No  human  agency 
had  a  hand  in  their  creation,  so  far  as  he  could 
see,  and  no  one  could  help  or  hinder  their  ap- 
proach. That  convulsion  of  penitence  at  the  altar 
last  night  sprang  unbidden  out  of  the  void. 
Kent's  uneasiness  grew  insistent  and  menacing,  for 
that  strange  scene  left  the  conviction  of  a  real 
act, — it  ran  upon  the  elemental  passions. 

He  glanced  at  the  fiery  sunset  light,  falling  on 
Mrs.  Aveling's  bowed  head,  the  regular  motion  of 
Aveling's  long,  tremulous  hand,  and  his  musing 
face,  half  lost  in  the  shadow.  The  possibility  of 
some  fresh  demonstration  sickened  him.  He 
could  not  face  these  scenes  to-day.  He  had  a 
sense  of  physical  exhaustion,  and  a  deep  moral 
distaste. 

He  took  his  hands  from  the  keys,  but  no  one 
spoke  as  he  silently  placed  upon  the  rack  some 
yellow  sheets  unearthed  from  the  latticed  shelves. 
A  pair  of  silver  candlesticks,  fantastically  carved, 
burned  one  on  each  side  of  the  rack.  By  the 
uncertain  light  he  began  to  read  the  faded  notes, 


58  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

— a  solemn,  wailing  Miserere,  strangely  alive  with 
the  old,  and  yet  ever  new  cry,  of  the  soul  for 
more  light  upon  the  entanglement  of  human  re- 
lations. 

As  he  played  he  became  aware  of  a  moral  up- 
lift, as  when  the  soul  reaches  a  higher  plane 
in  the  ascent  of  life.  From  some  far-off  place 
came  the  very  music  of  the  spheres,  and  there 
rose  a  vision, — a  place  of  deliverance,  weirdly  be- 
yond his  spell-bound  senses. 

"Edward!" 

Kent's  hands  came  down  with  a  crash  upon 
the  keys.  He  sprang  from  his  seat.  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing  was  kneeling  before  her  husband,  her  arms 
about  him,  pouring  an  agonized  cry  into  his  ears. 
The  sun,  in  a  last  expiring  effort,  threw  a  blaze 
of  light  upon  Aveling,  who  leaned  forward,  clutch- 
ing the  arms  of  his  chair.  His  brows  were  drawn 
together  in  an  effort  to  fix  his  vision,  his  whole 
form  knotted  in  some  contraction  of  dread  or 
fear. 

"  Edward !  Edward ! — my  darling, — Ned !  " 
Mrs.  Aveling's  voice  stabbed  the  shadows,  as  if  to 
recall  a  retreating  spirit.  As  Kent  looked,  he 
saw  that  Face  he  had  seen  but  once  shape  its 
sinister  outlines  in  the  dull  light.  Aveling  had 
risen,  and  his  wife  still  clung  to  him,  caressing 
his  pale  face  and  murmuring  low  cries  of  distress. 


A  TWILIGHT  VISION  59 

With  a  sudden  start,  he  shook  off  the  grip  of 
the  power  that  had  fallen  on  him.  He  put  his 
arms  about  Mrs.  Aveling's  trembling  form,  with 
an  expression  of  solicitude.  "  Why,  dearest — what 
is  the  trouble?  "  he  tenderly  asked. 

She  shivered  and  looked  miserably  at  Kent,  but 
did  not  answer. 

"  Tell  me,  Aline.  What  is  the  matter?  Did 
something  frighten  you  ?  "  He  peered  anxiously 
into  her  face. 

"  Why,  Ned — I  put  my  head  down  on  your 
knee,  and — I  must  have  gone  asleep — and 
dreamed."  She  began  to  tremble  again.  Avel- 
ing  laughed,  and,  drawing  her  closer  into  his  arms, 
soothed  her  as  he  would  a  child.  "  Poor  little 
girl!  Dreams  are  so  real,  sometimes."  He 
looked  up  at  Kent.  "  Go  on,  old  man.  Play 
something  lively, — a  bit  of  ragtime,  or  the  latest 
thing  from  old  Broadway." 

Kent  stared  in  helpless  amazement  at  the  swift 
transformation  of  the  man  his  music  raised. 
Into  what  chasm  of  being  had  that  mysterious 
face  dropped? 


EAISING    THE    UNSEEN 

FOE  several  days  Kent  did  not  go  near  the 
music-room.  He  had  been  startled  out  of  himself 
by  an  almost  visible  embodiment  of  Ned's  unseen 
tormentor,  and  he  struggled  with  a  horrible  temp- 
tation. Now  that  he  was  used  to  the  thought, 
it  seemed  less  fantastic  that  a  dead  man  should 
usurp  a  living  form  to  carry  out  his  will,  and 
he  longed  to  know  if  he  had  the  power  to  sum- 
mon that  uncanny  presence.  It  might  prove  much 
to  his  conclusions,  for  every  day  increased  the 
evidence  that  Aveling's  friends  were  in  a  state  of 
alarm  about  him,  and  Kent  meant  to  carry  for- 
ward some  plan  of  action.  One  thing  alone 
anchored  his  purpose, — Mrs.  Aveling's  strong  and 
terrible  fears. 

The  depth  of  her  anguish  Kent  witnessed  daily. 
She  watched  Aveling  with  ceaseless  vigilance,  con- 
cealing it  with  a  readiness  at  which  Kent  mar- 
velled. Never  a  quivering  eyelash  went  unmarked 
by  that  silent  watch  that  seemed  to  Kent  to  rise 
out  of  the  corners  of  the  room.  Never  a  shadow 
fell  upon  Aveling's  face  unseen.  If  he  paused 

60 


RAISING  THE  UNSEEN  61 

upon  the  bridge  across  the  pond,  a  shadow  flit- 
ted among  the  trees.  If  he  sank  wearily  under 
the  elms  in  the  park,  a  curtain  fluttered  at  a 
neighboring  window.  If  he  paced  the  corridor, 
an  almost  silent  footfall  echoed  his  heavy  tread. 
Just  what  she  feared,  Kent  did  not  know.  After 
all,  these  seizures  left  Ned  unharmed.  But  there 
was  something  ominous  in  the  behavior  of  all  the 
people  he  had  met.  They  seemed  to  be  in  ex- 
pectation of  something  more  than  he  had  seen, 
and  Kent  had  not  the  smallest  idea  of  what  it 
could  be.  Considering  the  general  silence,  he  did 
not  feel  ready  for  much  conversation  on  the  sub- 
ject with  any  one;  not,  at  least,  until  he  had 
solved  the  mystery  of  that  scene  in  the  music- 
room,  and  knew  there  lived  in  the  air  about  them 
a  form  he  could  evoke  at  will. 

In  the  few  days  that  followed  the  dinner  party, 
Aveling  made  Kent  very  well  acquainted  with 
the  Manor  and  its  surroundings.  He  even  went 
into  the  little  chapel,  pointing  out  its  treasures 
with  a  dryness  of  speech  that  Kent  admired. 
After  that,  with  a  glimpse  of  his  old  humor,  he 
bade  Kent  take  care  of  himself,  an  invitation 
which  was  accepted  with  alacrity.  Kent  made 
a  careful  show  of  his  occupied  hours.  He  read 
ostentatiously  in  Aveling's  sight.  He  wandered 
through  the  walled  gardens,  expatiating  loudly 
upon  their  beauty.  He  loitered  beside  the  deep 


62  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

pools.  But,  under  his  lazy  nonchalance,  he  kept 
a  watch,  waiting  to  track  that  stealthy  presence, 
invisible  as  air,  that  sprang  out  of  the  void  with 
a  grip  like  a  tiger's  jaw. 

At  the  earliest  opportunity  Kent  returned  to 
the  music-room  to  study  carefully  the  song  which 
had  thrown  Aveling  so  deeply  into  the  mystery. 
It  was  in  a  collection  of  medieval  music,  put  to- 
gether, apparently,  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
The  thing  he  played  was  a  devotional  song,  used 
by  pious  pilgrims  who  travelled  to  the  Holy  City 
during  the  Crusades.  The  book  suddenly  fell  out 
of  Kent's  hands.  There  was  a  strong  religious 
bias  in  the  Aveling  family.  Was  its  nascent 
power  stirring  in  Ned?  He  picked  up  the  book, 
and  ran  over  the  simple  measures  with  the  soft 
pedal  down,  and  resolved  to  play  it,  some  day,  to 
see  what  effect  it  had.  If  there  was  any  power 
resident  in  the  simple  theme,  the  effect  ought  to 
be  constant,  and,  if  he  again  raised  that  fear- 
ful shape,  it  might  give  him  entrance  to  a  region 
hid  in  darkness. 

Things  did  not  lend  themselves  to  his  purpose 
for  several  days.  Then  he  chanced  to  hear  Mrs. 
Aveling  remark,  one  night,  that  she  meant  to 
leave  them  alone  the  next  day,  to  have  an  old- 
time  visit  with  Betty  Gary  at  Melton  Abbey. 

Kent  was  not  supposed  to  know  this.  Accord- 
ingly, he  disappeared  to  the  music-room  directly 


RAISING  THE  UNSEEN  63 

after  breakfast,  knowing  well  that  Aveling  would 
soon  find  him  there. 

A  long  French  window  looked  out  upon  the 
garden.  It  was  a  warm  morning,  and  the  win- 
dow stood  open.  Aveling's  voice  was  presently 
heard  outside,  inquiring  of  a  passing  servant  for 
the  whereabouts  of  "  Mr.  Kent."  There  was  just 
time  to  slip  the  book  under  cover.  Kent  was  deep 
in  "  Peer  Gynt "  when  Aveling's  spare  form  ap- 
peared in  the  window. 

"  WeUy  I  have  had  a  hunt  for  you." 

"  Have  you  ?  Why,  I've  been  here  an  hour  or 
more,"  said  Kent,  turning  away  from  the  piano. 

"  Go  on.  Don't  mind  me,"  said  Aveling,  drop- 
ping into  a  chair.  "  Just  keep  on  with  your 
classic  selections.  I  can't  tell  one  from  the  other, 
and,  if  that  one  amuses  you,  I  am  game.  Lady 
Melton  carried  Aline  off  for  the  day,  so  you  are 
a  committee  to  amuse  me.  But  I'm  in  an  amiable 
mood,  and  easy  to  please." 

Kent  moved  the  music  on  the  rack.  A  corner 
of  the  ancient  song-book  came  into  view.  He 
could  make  his  trial  now.  Mrs.  Aveling  was  out 
of  reach.  There  was  no  one  to  shock,  if  what 
he  feared  would  follow. 

After  a  glance  at  the  lazy  figure,  stretched  at 
ease,  Kent  struck  into  the  harmonies  of  the  first 
movement  of  the  "  Peer  Gynt "  suite.  The  trills 
and  horn-like  notes  seemed  to  breathe  of  morning 


64  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

freshness,  producing  its  own  serenity  in  Avel- 
ing's quiet  face.  The  last  faint  trills  and  dimin- 
ishing arpeggios  died,  and  Aveling  did  not  stir. 
With  a  little  hesitation,  Kent  sounded  the  soft 
gloom  of  the  death  of  Ase.  The  sombre,  swell- 
ing chords  called  up  vague  images  of  melancholy. 
He  saw  Aveling's  face  darken  and  grow  veiled. 
He  swept  Aveling's  mood  like  a  harp. 

Without  a  break,  he  changed  from  the  melan- 
choly of  the  upper  notes  to  the  minor  song  from 
the  old  book.  ,  Aveling's  face  gleamed  like  steel. 
The  song  wailed  on.  With  starting  eyes  and 
chilled  blood,  he  saw  that  awful  change.  Aveling's 
form  began  to  knot,  his  vision  concentrate 

Kent  had  seen  enough.  With  a  sudden  crash 
of  march-like  chords,  he  plunged  into  the  Torea- 
dor's song,  his  rich  voice  starting  up  the  echoes. 

Aveling  sprang  upon  him.     "  My  God,  man !  " 

Kent  put  a  pair  of  iron  hands  upon  him.  Avel- 
ing was  deathly  white,  he  labored  in  some  awful 
convulsion  of  the  soul.  Kent  waited, — he  felt  the 
relaxing  of  knotted  muscles. 

"Why,  Kent— I— I—" 

"Well,  you  what?" 

Aveling's  vision  wavered,  he  looked  around  the 
room,  bewildered.  "  I  thought — I — saw  some- 
thing." 

"  You  saw  me." 

His  eyes  came  back  to  Kent.     There  was  an 


RAISING  THE  UNSEEN  65 

effort  to  marshal  his  scattered  mind  forces.  "  I 
thought  I  heard  something." 

"  You  did.     You  heard  me  play." 

Aveling  shook  his  head.  "  I  heard  the 
trampling  of  a  great  crowd,  and  saw  lances  and 
banners,  and  heard  the  sound  of  loud  huzzas." 
His  wavering  mental  poise  scattered  again. 

"  Why,  wake  up,  man.  You've  been  dreaming," 
said  Kent,  with  a  clap  on  his  shoulder. 

Aveling's  face,  wistful  as  a  child's,  searched 
Kent's.  "  Do  you  think  that  is  it?  " 

"  Why,  sure.  My  music  put  you  asleep.  I  al- 
ways consider  it  to  be  a  compliment." 

There  was  not  the  slightest  flicker  of  fun  at 
this  bald  nonsense.  Aveling  sighed  heavily,  and 
returned  to  his  seat.  His  steps  were  slow  and 
feeble.  As  soon  as  he  touched  the  chair,  he 
bounded  out  of  it,  as  if  it  were  afire.  "  I  can't 
sit  there — I  can't  sit  there.  Don't  ask  me !  "  He 
grasped  Kent's  arm  with  nerveless  fingers,  his 
voice  shook.  His  sturdy,  masculine  powers  were 
gone. 

It  was  evident  that  Aveling  was  incapable  of 
getting  out  of  this  maelstrom  unaided.  Kent 
watched  the  struggle,  and  felt  the  frenzied  appeal 
of  clutching  fingers.  It  was  horribly  certain  to 
Kent  that  he  could  raise  the  spirit.  Could  he 
send  it  back  to  its  invisible  habitation?  He  took 
firm  hold  of  Aveling. 


66  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  Come,  Ned.  You  have  not  tried  that  pair 
of  hunters  which  came  to  the  stables  yesterday. 
Let's  take  a  gallop  over  the  downs." 

His  eye  resolutely  held  Aveling's,  whoso  face 
began  to  brighten. 

"  The  very  thing!  "  he  said  joyfully. 

He  stretched  his  arms  above  his  head,  his  reso- 
lute self  came  back.  His  step  was  full  of  spring, 
his  face  alight.  The  Tlwng  had  gone! 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    FBESH    TRAIL 

THE  next  day  Kent  was  lounging  about  the 
large  pond,  watching  the  slow-moving  carp  and 
wondering  if  a  boat,  moored  at  the  bottom  of 
some  moss-grown  steps,  was  meant  for  use.  He 
had  not  seen  Aveling  all  day,  which  gave  him  some 
quiet  hours  to  turn  over  the  alarming  facts  he 
had  gathered,  and  consider  his  own  relation  to 
them,  for  he  had  plainly  been  an  agent  in  last 
night's  transformation. 

He  began  to  wish  he  had  not  meddled,  for  his 
own  dreadful  convictions  were  forcing  him  into 
a  clinch  with  things  beyond  his  calculation.  The 
influence  inhabiting  the  house  was  something  of 
such  stout  fibre  as  to  obey  a  set  of  laws,  and, 
unwittingly,  Kent  had  invaded  that  unseen  em- 
pire. But  his  conquest  was  of  dubious  value,  for 
it  lay  in  his  grasp  with  no  relation  to  any  on- 
ward movement. 

He  began  to  feel  the  urgency  of  council.     So 

far  as  he  could  see,  the  various  forms  of  Avel- 

ing's  alteration  had  no  relation;  and  yet,  if  they 

followed   a   chain   of  sequences   which   allowed   a 

67 


68  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

third  person  to  produce  an  effect  at  will,  they 
must  belong  together  and  be  parts  of  a  discov- 
erable whole.  Here  Kent  wanted  help,  or,  at 
least,  the  knowledge  of  such  facts  as  might  be 
known.  If  Aveling  could  describe  his  sensations 
more  fully,  it  might  shape  a  way  to  use  the 
horrible  power  Kent  had  within  his  grasp.  He 
resolved,  at  any  rate,  to  introduce  the  subject  as 
soon  as  Aveling  was  in  condition  for  a  talk. 

An  uncanny  feeling  of  being  watched  crept  over 
him.  His  muscles  knotted,  as  if  a  galvanic  cur- 
rent had  been  applied.  His  eyes  started  from 
his  head,  and  he  began  to  turn,  as  if  he  were 
a  puppet  in  a  Titan's  hands,  until  presently  he 
faced  Aveling,  who  stood  some  three  paces  away. 
Aveling's  eyes  were  fastened  on  him,  and,  in  the 
hard  glitter  of  his  regard,  Kent  felt  something 
like  the  pressure  of  a  cage.  He  was  bound,  soul 
and  body,  in  bondage  to  Aveling's  will.  He  saw 
Aveling  raise  his  arm  with  a  peculiar  motion,  and 
heard  him  speak  in  slow,  formal  tones :  "  Come 
with  me.  I  have  need  of  you." 

Kent's  invisible  bonds  burst  at  the  sound  of 
these  words.  He  rose  to  his  feet.  Aveling  was 
plainly  in  the  shadow  of  his  second  personality. 
Kent  had  not  the  least  idea  how  to  avoid  the  dan- 
ger, whatever  it  was,  that  always  lurked  about  his 
transformations.  He  made  an  effort  to  recall 
Aveling's  lost  self.  Reaching  downward,  he  gath- 


A  FRESH  TRAIL  69 

ered  up  a  small  pebble  and  sent  it  over  the  glassy 
surface  of  the  water.  "  Do  you  remember  how 
we  used  to  skip  stones  at  the  old  mill-pond?  and 
how  I  threw  you  down  once,  because  your  stone 
touched  the  water  more  times  than  mine  ?  " 

Kent  looked  up  at  the  bitter  face,  lined  be- 
yond recognition.  His  words  woke  no  response 
in  Aveling,  who  stared  absently  ahead.  "  I — 
don't  understand,"  he  said  thickly,  thrusting  his 
hands  deep  into  his  pockets.  Kent's  attempt  to 
spur  the  memory  of  a  boyish  reminiscence  had 
driven  him  dangerously  near  the  forbidden  line. 
He  dared  not  move  again  until  Aveling  spoke. 

"  I  want  to  go  for  a  walk,"  he  said.  There  was 
an  odd  mingling  of  helpless  appeal  and  brusque 
command. 

"All    right,"    said   Kent.      "Where    shall   we 

Aveling  did  not  answer.  He  turned  away,  and 
plunged  into  a  pace  which  Kent  found  it  hard 
to  equal,  moving  as  if  he  wore  winged  sandals. 

In  spite  of  his  bravest  effort,  Kent  fell  behind. 
Aveling  began  to  talk,  and,  hearing  the  answer 
so  far  in  the  rear,  turned  in  his  path.  He  looked 
steadily  into  Kent's  face,  and  Kent  saw  into  his 
very  being.  Aveling  was  fighting  a  battle  for 
supremacy  of  his  soul,  and  the  Invader  warily 
pressed  for  every  inch.  But  he  was  fighting  well ; 
it  was  not  the  helpless  giving  over  in  the  music- 


70  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

room.  A  faint  hope  stirred  in  Kent.  The  chance 
he  was  looking  for  might  come,  if  he  followed 
closely. 

Aveling  fell  back  until  they  walked  together, 
and  began  to  talk  in  a  lighter  vein,  seeming  to 
take  a  close  interest  in  the  village  folk  they  met, 
who  touched  their  forelocks  and  courtesied  to  the 
manor-folk.  The  dark  power  upon  Aveling 
seemed  to  be  held  in  abeyance. 

Kent  had  the  impression  that  Aveling  had  set 
out  for  an  objective  point;  but,  as  they  rambled 
on,  he  dismissed  it  as  an  unaccountable  vagary. 
Especially  when,  as  the  result  of  an  occasional 
glance,  he  saw  Aveling  apparently  examining  the 
landscape  with  close  attention.  They  passed  old 
churches  covered  with  dark-green  creepers;  they 
crossed  moss-hung  bridges,  hoary  with  age;  they 
feasted  on  the  rich  loveliness  of  rural  England, 
the  drooping  willows,  the  graceful  elm,  the  sheep 
peacefully  feeding,  the  startled  deer  bounding 
away  through  brush  and  bracken. 

To  Kent,  it  was  a  time  of  rare  enjoyment.  He 
had  forgotten,  for  the  moment,  the  dark  mood  of 
his  companion.  They  went  down  a  quiet  path, 
where  Aveling  abruptly  paused.  When  Kent  came 
up  with  him,  he  saw  a  child  standing  in  the  shel- 
ter of  the  gateway, — a  shy,  still  thing,  with  a 
pair  of  friendly  eyes.  Aveling  spoke  gently  to 
her. 


A  FRESH  TRAIL  71 

A  sudden,  strange  impression  fell  upon  Kent, 
as  if  the  shadow  which  enveloped  Aveling  reached 
out  and  hung  about  the  child.  He  looked  down 
in  some  astonishment.  Was  it  possible  that  this 
wayside  peasant  had  any  relation  to  Aveling's 
enigma?  As  the  thought  came  to  him,  he  saw 
evidences  of  distress  in  Aveling,  who  turned  a 
fearfully  altered  face  toward  him,  and  then 
started  down  the  path. 

With  a  few  quick  strides,  Kent  reached  Avel- 
ing's side  and  grasped  his  arm.  "  Tell  me,  Ned. 
Who  is  that  beautiful  child?  Is  she  foreign- 
born?" 

"  No !  "  The  single  word  fell  harshly.  Avel- 
ing muttered  indistinguishable  words  and  made 
wild  gestures,  swaying  in  a  half-dream.  "  Some- 
how she  makes  me  think  of  that  Italian  balcony 
at  Roxmoor,"  he  went  on,  in  a  dreamy  tone, — 

"  and  those  strange  Italian  things  of  hers " 

He  shook  his  head  like  one  mesmerized,  sighing 
heavily.  "  It  is  all  so  puzzling ! " 

With  a  rush  of  horror,  Kent  saw  the  descent  of 
something  that  transformed  the  man,  as  much  as 
if  another  stood  in  his  place.  His  eye  set,  and 
he  drove  forward  with  a  deathless  fixity  of  pur- 
pose. Without  a  break  in  that  furious  pace,  he 
kept  on  until  he  reached  the  gate  of  a  cemetery, 
where  he  paused,  and,  standing  still,  glared 


72  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

through  the  iron  bars,  his  hands  clenched  upon 
them. 

Kent  came  up  beside  him.  He  had  no  knowl- 
edge of  how  to  deal  with  Aveling,  possessed  by 
his  uncanny  second  self,  but  decided  to  risk  a 
question  about  the  child.  Before  he  had  time  to 
speak,  Aveling  turned  away,  and,  without  warn- 
ing, disappeared  among  the  undergrowth  beneath 
the  trees. 

Kent  stared  helplessly  at  the  slight  quivering 
of  the  bushes  that  remained,  and  then,  sinking 
upon  the  ground,  gave  himself  up  to  silent 
laughter. 

"  What,  in  the  name  of  conscience ! "  he 
thought.  "  Here  I  am  laughing  like  a  hyena,  and 
tears  were  befitting,  I  trow.  How  in  time  will 
I  find  my  way  home?  " 

He  lay  back  on  the  grass  for  awhile  in  deep 
thought,  disturbed  by  the  conviction  which  clung 
to  him  that  the  child's  fate  was  in  the  tangle. 
Ned  probably  would  tell  him  who  she  was;  no 
doubt,  he  could  be  induced  to  talk,  and  they  could 
wring  the  subject  dry  together. 

He  sprang  up,  and  peered  through  the  gate 
at  the  silent  graves,  but  decided  not  to  go  in. 
He  must  not  run  the  risk  of  annoying  Aveling. 
He  went  down  the  path,  seeing  no  trace  of  the 
child,  but  meeting  a  small  boy,  who  told  him  he 


A  FRESH  TRAIL  73 

was  within  sight  of  Roxmoor,  hidden  only  by  the 
trees.  He  walked  on,  a  little  astonished.  Why 
had  Aveling  taken  so  roundabout  a  way  to  reach 
his  goal? 

As  he  came  up  the  avenue  he  met  his  host,  who 
wore  an  anxious  look.  "  Why,  where  in  the  world 
have  you  been?  "  asked  Aveling.  "  We  have  ran- 
sacked the  place  for  you."  All  traces  of  his  re- 
cent gloom  and  passion  had  vanished. 

"Oh!  I  was  just  rambling  over  the  country," 
said  Kent  gayly. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  for  me  ?  I  like  to  walk. 
Nothing  would  have  suited  me  better,"  said  Avel- 
ing reproachfully. 

Kent  shot  a  quick  glance  at  him.  Had  he  for- 
gotten their  walk  together? 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Kent  went  on,  "  I  am  really 
proud  of  my  bump  of  locality,  and  I  wanted  to 
know  if  I  had  any  grounds  for  pride." 

"  Well,  did  the  bump  work  ?  "  asked  Aveling, 
looking  much  amused. 

"  Alas,  Ned !  It  is  not  a  bump.  It  is  a  dis- 
mal plain.  I  had  to  hire  a  small  urchin  to  help 
me  arrive  home." 

"  Next  time  let  me  into  your  confidence  and 
you  won't  need  any  small  urchins."  And  Avel- 
ing affectionately  tucked  his  hand  into  Kent's 
arm. 

As  they  passed  into  the  house,  Kent's  hopes 


74,  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

fell.  Aveling's  brow  was  smooth,  his  eye  untrou- 
bled; he  looked  the  picture  of  content  and  health. 
But  Kent  could  glean  no  aid  from  him  about  the  , 
child  who  suddenly  loomed  so  large  in  Aveling's 
problem.  For  events  which  had  passed  within 
the  hour  had  been  wiped  completely  from  his  mind, 
as  a  wet  sponge  cleans  a  slate! 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    BIRTHDAY 

WHEN  dinner  was  over,  they  all  went  out  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  terrace.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  the  scent  of  potted  plants,  placed 
thickly  along  the  brick-paved  terrace.  Pale  flow- 
ers gleamed  in  the  purple  dusk.  The  rising  moon 
threw  a  silver  glory  over  the  stone  fa9ade  of  the 
castle.  The  edge  of  the  battlements  overhead  cut 
a  jagged  line  in  the  dark-blue  sky,  where  the 
stars  were  marshalling. 

There  was  not  much  conversation.  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing  was  unusually  quiet,  and  Kent  was  busy  with 
the  afternoon's  occurrence.  Whatever  the  loss 
of  memory  might  mean,  it  at  least  checked  his 
impulse  to  question  Ned. 

At  a  word  from  Aveling,  their  walk  extended 
out  to  the  avenue,  barred  with  lines  of  black  and 
silver  in  the  moonlight.  Aveling  kept  up  a  light 
flow  of  talk.  Kent's  replies  were  few  and  absent. 
Mrs.  Aveling  soon  felt  the  chill  of  the  evening 
air,  and  they  turned  again  to  the  castle.  Kent 
halted,  for  a  moment,  and  ran  his  eye  over  the 
old  gray  walls.  The  lamplight  glowed  through 

75 


76  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

the  casements  like  shapes  of  gold  and  crimson. 
The  cheerful  light  seemed  to  sharpen  the  tang 
in  the  air,  which  spoke  of  autumn. 

"  The  winter  will  soon  be  on  us,"  said  Kent. 
Aveling  did  not  speak.  "  Let  me  see,"  he  went 
on.  "  You  have  a  birthday  soon,  Ned." 

Aveling  regarded  him  with  gloomy  eyes.  "  Yes, 
I  have  a  birthday  soon,"  he  said,  and,  without  an- 
other word,  walked  into  the  house. 

A  fire  was  blazing  in  the  Red  Parlor  when  they 
entered.  Mrs.  Aveling  sat  down  before  it  and 
held  up  her  hands  to  warm  them.  She  wore  a 
dark  dress  that  fitted  closely.  Lines  of  white  ran 
round  her  neck  and  wrists.  Kent  noticed  the 
nervous  fineness  of  her  hands  as  the  firelight 
played  over  them.  As  he  glanced  at  her  face,  half 
in  shadow,  it  struck  him  that  she  had  grown  thin 
since  he  came  to  England.  There  was  a  weary 
look  upon  her  face  and  a  drooping  of  her  whole 
figure.  She  looked  passive,  almost  indifferent, 
making  absent  movements,  as  if  in  deep  reverie. 

Kent  turned  away.  He  always  had  a  guilty 
feeling  when  he  saw  her  like  this.  There  was 
something  unprotected  about  her,  as  if  her  guard 
had  slipped.  He  began  to  examine  a  small  pic- 
ture on  the  wall,  a  water-color  sketch  of  the  Ro- 
man Forum.  Aveling  had  picked  up  a  newspaper. 

"  Ned,  have  you  been  to  Rome  ?  "  asked  Kent. 

"  No.      We   have   not   been   out    of   England. 


THE  BIRTHDAY  ?7 

Why?  "  The  last  word  had  an  unexpected  sharp- 
ness. 

"  Oh !  I'll  have  to  be  trudging  along  soon.  I 
want  to  see  Rome  and  Venice  before  I  go  home, 
and  thought,  perhaps,  you  could  give  me  some 
fatherly  advice." 

The  silence  which  followed  was  so  impressive 
that  Kent  looked  in  some  surprise  at  Aveling, 
who  burst  into  a  harsh  laugh.  The  newspaper 
clattered  to  the  floor. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense, — what  are  you  talking 
about?  "  he  said  brusquely.  He  was  visibly  shaken. 
He  got  up  and  stirred  the  fire,  and,  after  a  few 
restless  movements,  sat  down  in  his  chair.  He 
caught  up  the  newspaper  and  began  deliberately 
to  tear  it  into  fine  bits. 

Kent  had  not  moved.  He  heard  a  slight  rustle 
of  Mrs.  Aveling's  silk  garments.  Masking  his 
surprise,  he  turned  to  her.  She  had  moved  in 
her  chair.  All  of  her  apathy  had  vanished. 
Every  line  of  her  was  tense  with  a  helpless  dread. 
Her  steady,  imploring  gaze  held  him  like  a  mag- 
net. Her  lips  were  moving,  as  if  she  were  trying 
over  words.  "  You  mustn't  think  of  going, — we 
expect  a  long  visit."  The  deadly  anxiety  in  her 
face  did  not  escape  into  her  voice;  it  was  the 
usual  low,  sweet  music.  The  contrast  between 
the  two  was  horrible.  It  was  as  if  above  a  grave 
a  child  sang. 


78  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent  came  forward  with  an  easy  swing  and 
dropped  into  a  chair.  "  Oh,  don't  flatter  your- 
selves. I  shall  probably  stay  for  several  years," 
he  said  carelessly.  "  I  was  only  about  to 'remark, 
in  order  to  relieve  your  minds,  that  I  didn't  mean 
to  live  here." 

But  his  humorous  words  found  no  response  in 
Aveling,  whose  mood  grew  irritable.  He  snatched 
up  the  torn  paper  and  put  it  in  the  fire,  crushing 
it  down  among  the  embers.  Kent  cast  about  for 
a  harmless  subject  of  conversation.  He  glanced 
at  Aveling's  spare  form  outlined  by  the  fire. 

"  By  the  way,  Ned,  why  is  this  room  called 
the  '  Red  Parlor  '  ?  "  There  was  not  a  single  red 
article  in  it. 

Aveling  started.  "  How  do  I  know  ? "  he 
snapped  out.  He  strode  to  a  curtained  doorway, 
and,  dragging  the  curtains  viciously  aside,  dis- 
appeared. "  Prince  of  blunderers !  "  Kent  was 
saying  to  himself. 

Mrs.  Aveling  stepped  in  front  of  him.  "  Have 
you  not  noticed  the  marks  upon  the  wall  ?  " 

Kent  sprang  up  at  the  slightly  imperious  mo- 
tion of  her  hand  and  followed  her  to  the  south 
wall  of  the  room.  Here  and  there  were  dark-red 
stains.  Mrs.  Aveling  did  not  look  at  Kent. 

"  We  do  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  name," 
she  said.  "  But  we  have  always  felt  that  it  must 
have  some  connection  with  these  spots." 


THE  BIRTHDAY  79 

"  Perhaps  they  are  caused  by  dampness,"  sug- 
gested Kent. 

"  Nothing  seems  to  affect  them."  She  spoke  ab- 
sently, still  regarding  the  mysterious  spots.  Kent 
made  a  sudden  resolution. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  annoyed  Ned,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

She  paled  a  little.  "  You  will  annoy  him  still 
more  if  you  talk  of  going  away,"  with  a  quick 
shift  of  her  intent  look.  There  was  a  return  of 
that  still  intensity  at  the  fireside.  Kent  studied 
the  spots. 

"  You  see,  I  was  meanly  calculating  a  series 
of  visits  to  Roxmoor,"  he  said.  "  And  I  didn't 
want  to  become  a  bore  the  first  tune." 

Mrs.  Aveling*s  hands  began  to  work.  She  did 
not  answer.  He  turned  a  sharp  look  upon  her. 
Her  manner  seemed  to  invite  confidence. 

"  Mrs.  Aveling,  won't  you " 

She  broke  through  his  words.  "  No — I 
couldn't  think  of  it.  There  are  so  many  things 
we  planned  to  do.  Come  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said  delib- 
erately, "  Ned  has  a  birthday  soon,  you  know," 
and  led  the  way  to  the  fireside,  talking  volubly. 
Her  color  had  risen  and  her  nervous,  flurried 
movements  showed  some  dread  of  further  ques- 
tioning. 

In  a  few  moments  Kent  heard  a  curtain  draw 


80  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

aside.     He  gave  no  sign,  but  he  knew  that  Avel- 
ing  had  returned  and  quietly  taken  a  seat. 

"  Balked  again,'*  ran  Kent's  musing.  "  Whom 
can  I  tackle  now?  And,  above  all,  who  shall  tell 
me  why  they  seem  so  interested  in  my  staying 
for  that  birthday?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   VOICE   FROM    THE   MIDDLE   AGES 

THE  next  morning  Kent  found  Aveling  on  the 
terrace. 

"*  Ain't   you     'shamed,    you     sleepy-head? ' : 
quoted  Aveling,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Am  I  late?  "  As  Kent's  glance  went  upward, 
he  noticed  that  Aveling's  hair  was  turning  gray. 
The  blue  shadows  about  his  features  sharpened 
the  contrast  of  his  careless  mirth. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  late  or  I  am 
early.  It  is  all  in  the  point  of  view.  I  got  up 
and  took  a  gallop  across  the  downs.  It's  glori- 
ous out  there." 

He  looked  across  the  track  of  his  early  ride, 
whistling  softly  to  himself.  "  Kent,  it's  a  crime 
to  waste  such  a  day  as  this.  I  feel  a  rise  of  the 
pagan  in  me.  What  do  you  say  to  a  day  in  the 
open,  with  the  birds,  and  the  fishes,  and  so  on?  " 

Kent  readily  agreed,  and  they  set  off  for  a 
day's  fishing  in  the  fine  trout  streams  that  tum- 
bled through  the  northern  border  of  the  manor 
lands.  When  they  returned,  tired  and  trium- 

81 


82  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

phant,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  they  found  Mr. 
Bateson,  the  family  lawyer.  He  had  come  down 
from  London  with  some  things  for  Aveling's  at- 
tention. Aveling  grasped  his  hand  with  a  quite 
un-English  effusion.  His  voice  rang;  he  shouted 
boyishly  of  the  day's  sport.  Mr.  Bateson  was 
plainly  amazed. 

Kent  looked  on  with  some  amusement  at  the 
baffled  lawyer.  He  had  evidently  never  seen  Avel- 
ing in  good  spirits,  and  they  ran  unusually  high 
to-night.  Even  the  statuesque  servants,  deco- 
rously serving  the  dinner,  were  human,  as  an  oc- 
casional sidelong  glance  or  a  quivering  muscle 
showed.  Mrs.  Aveling  looked  relieved,  as  if  she 
had  temporarily  slipped  a  weight.  She  had  been 
in  her  room  all  day  with  a  headache,  and  only 
left  it  to  appear  at  dinner,  retiring  immediately 
after.  Aveling  and  Mr.  Bateson  went  into  the 
small  study  where  the  business  concerning  the 
estate  was  carried  on,  leaving  Kent  alone  in  the 
Red  Parlor. 

He  stretched  himself  out  in  an  armchair,  en- 
joying the  sensuous  repose  after  the  day's  sport. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  alarmed  confusion  which 
the  mere  suggestion  of  his  leaving  Roxmoor  had 
produced  last  night  in  both  Aveling  and  his  wife. 
There  was  an  incomprehensible  seriousness  about 
it.  It  seemed  as  if  his  visit  were  of  some  im- 
portance to  them.  If  they  wanted  his  services, 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  MIDDLE  AGES      83 

why  did  they  not  speak  plainly  about  it?  Why 
was  there  any  mystery? 

Aveling's  voice  broke  into  his  reverie. 

"Here,  you  jack-o'-dreams,  wake  up!" 

Kent  lazily  turned  his  head. 

"  Just  stir  your  wits  and  talk  to  Bateson 
awhile.  I  must  go  and  see  about  Aline ;"  and  he 
disappeared.  The  bright,  merry  face  pervaded 
every  corner  of  Kent's  being  like  soothing  oil. 

Mr.  Bateson  advanced  into  the  room  and  seated 
himself  opposite  Kent.  He  did  not  imitate  Kent's 
supine  ease,  but  sat  stiffly  upon  a  straight  chair 
and  interlaced  his  fingers.  He  carried  his  head 
with  judicial  dignity. 

"  This  is  your  first  visit  to  England?  "  with  an 
upward  lift  of  his  expressionless  voice. 

Kent  said  it  was.  He  was  wondering  if  it 
were  possible  to  pump  this  very  dry  gentleman. 

"  I  hope  you  like  our  country."  There  was 
the  faintest  possible  feeling  in  his  even  tones. 

Now,  why  the  deuce  does  he  hope  I  like  his 
country?  thought  Kent.  He  decided  to  try  to 
pump,  anyway. 

"  Oh,  yes, — immensely.  But  such  a  short  visit 
as  mine  doesn't  allow  me  to  see  much  of  it." 

The  stiff  figure  became  stiffer. 

"  I  understood  you  intended  to  make — quite  an 
extended  visit — quite  extended,"  said  Mr.  Bate- 
son, with  an  apologetic  cough. 


ft*  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is — relatively,"  said  Kent, 
with  elaborate  indifference. 

Mr.  Bateson  coughed  again. 

The  old  bird  is  warming  up,  thought  Kent,  as 
he  saw  the  dry  face  opposite  kindle  with  a  pur- 
pose. 

"  I  shall  stay  a  few  weeks,  and  then  go  over 
to  the  Continent,"  said  Kent  lazily. 

Mr.  Bateson  shifted  his  position.  "  Well,  I 
hope  you  won't  go  for  awhile,"  with  solemn  re- 
flectiveness. "  You  seem  to  have  done  Mr.  Avel- 
ing  good."  A  sharp,  meaning  glance  met  Kent's, 
purposely  a  little  vacant. 

"  Done  Ned  good?  Why,  how?  "  he  said,  lift- 
ing his  head  and  studying  the  fire. 

"  Mr.  Aveling  has  seemed  a  little — depressed." 
Bateson  waved  his  hand  in  deprecation.  "  It  is 
a  great  responsibility, — and  he  left  many  friends, 
no  doubt,"  he  finished  blandly. 

"  You  didn't  call  him  exactly  *  depressed '  to- 
night?" 

The  lawyer  was  evidently  absorbed  by  his  sur- 
prise at  it.  "  I  never  saw  him  like  that  before," 
he  said,  with  unexpected  feeling.  He  met  Kent's 
keen  gaze  squarely.  "  Better  stay  as  long  as  you 
possibly  can,  Mr.  Kent.  Better  stay,"  he  re- 
peated ;  "  better  stay.  Mr.  Aveling  may 
need "  He  cleared  his  throat. 

For  a  full  moment  each  one  gazed  into   the 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  MIDDLE  AGES      85 

very  soul  of  the  other  and  saw  there  things  the 
tongue  could  not  frame. 

Neither  one  saw  the  door  swing  silently  ajar; 
but  both  leaped  from  their  chairs  as  a  hollow, 
pompous  voice  from  the  Middle  Ages  broke  upon 
their  startled  ears. 

"It  is  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  the  hour 
waxeth  late  and  we  must  be  about  betimes  when 
morning  breaks.  Roxmoor  is  grim,  mayhap,  but 
her  battlements  and  grated  doors  can  promise 
sleep  and  rest  to  those  within  her  walls." 

An  imposing  figure  stood  before  them.  It  was 
Aveling,  but  overlaid  by  a  power  seeking  domi- 
nance, against  which  he  seemed  to  struggle.  Two 
separate  natures  warred  for  mastery  of  the  fa- 
miliar frame.  The  harsh,  deep  tones  seemed 
rusty  from  long  disuse.  The  glitter  in  his  eyes 
appalled  the  two  silent  men.  He  turned  about. 
"What,  ho,  without!" 

Bateson  glanced  hurriedly  around.  Aveling's 
back  was  turned;  his  pompous  dignity  and  sono- 
rous call  charged  the  very  air  with  a  current  of 
antique  flavor.  Bateson  put  out  a  long,  stealthy 
hand  and  rang  the  bell.  In  a  few  moments  a  serv- 
ant appeared  in  the  doorway.  A  flash  went  over 
his  face,  instantly  suppressed.  He  listened  to 
his  weird  orders. 

Kent  studied  the  impassive  servant.  This  ap- 
parition was  not  new  to  him.  He  turned  to  Bate- 


86  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

son, — the  dry,  quizzical  face  was  watching  him. 
Bateson  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  seemed  to 
extend  his  conversation  of  the  early  evening. 

They  now  became  aware  that  Aveling  was  bid- 
ding them  a  most  stately  good-night.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  go,  bent  by  the  wind  of  that 
imperious  compounding  of  personalities.  Mr. 
Bateson  gave  Kent  a  most  penetrating  look  as 
they  separated  in  the  corridor.  "  Better  stay, 
Mr.  Kent.  Better  stay."  His  thin  figure  melted 
away  in  the  gloom. 

Kent  went  on  to  his  room ;  but  he  halted  on  the 
threshold,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
turned  and  swiftly  retraced  his  steps,  knocking  at 
Mr.  Bateson's  door.  It  was  presently  opened  and 
the  small,  dry  face  of  the  lawyer  looked  out. 

"  I  came  to  ask  why,  Mr.  Bateson,  you  think 
I'd  better  stay." 

Bateson  threw  the  door  wide  open.  "  I  think 
I  can  give  you  the  most  urgent  reason,"  he  said. 
"  Come  in." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   TALE    OF    FATE 

"  ARE  you  a  man  of  courage,  Mr.  Kent?  " 

This  rather  unexpected  question  produced  a 
slight  smile.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  considered 
the  matter,"  said  Kent.  "  But  it's  safe  to  say 
that  I  am  not  easily  knocked  about." 

Bateson  did  not  immediately  go  on,  and  Kent 
spoke  again.  "  Does  it  require  any  notable  cour- 
age?" 

Bateson  nodded.  "  I  think  so,"  he  gravely  re- 
plied, asking  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone,  "  Do 
you  know  anything  of  Roxmoor's  history  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  anything.  It  was  never  of  any  in- 
terest to  me  until  I  came  here  and  found  Aveling 
entangled  in  it.  In  fact,  I  had  a  rather  close 
brush  with  the  mystery  the  very  first  night  I  came. 
At  least,  it  is  a  mystery  to  me.  I  suppose  there 
is  something  in  the  family  archives  to  explain 
it." 

"  Not  to  our  satisfaction.  We  know  nothing 
of  the  reason  for  the  doom  of  Roxmoor,"  he  said, 
with  solemn  emphasis. 

87 


88  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent  looked  up  sharply.  "Doom?"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  It  is  an  ugly  word,"  said  Bateson,  "  and  yet 
the  only  one  which  fitly  describes  the  strange  story 
of  the  Avelings.  For  it  is  a  weird  tale  of  Fate, 
which  neither  man  nor  time  can  placate, — a  grim 
and  awful  destiny  which  mocks  with  swelling 
coffers  the  slow  crushing  of  a  House." 

The  solemn  words  had  an  ominous  meaning, 
which  dazed  Kent  for  a  moment.  "  Is  there  any 
danger  threatening  Ned?  "  he  asked  incredulously. 

"  A  very  grave  and  serious  danger." 

"Connected,  I  presume,  with  his  strange 
spells." 

Bateson  nodded.  "  It  is  there  the  danger  lies. 
I  will  go  back  a  little.  The  prosperity  of  the 
Aveling  family  began  in  the  time  of  Henry  IV. 
The  Lord  Aveling  of  that  period  was  a  pious 
man  of  great  influence,  and  from  his  day  the  fam- 
ily was  rich  and  powerful.  In  the  colonial  era 
a  younger  son  went  to  America  and  founded  that 
branch  of  the  family.  Why  he  left  home  is  not 
quite  clear.  But  it  is  fair  to  assume  that  he  was 
not  unmindful  of  the  blight  that  crept  slowly 
across  the  manor.  For,  some  time  before  he 
crossed  the  sea,  a  tradition  of  ill-luck  had  been 
imported  into  the  family  history, — the  black  fruit 
of  the  unmistakable  disaster  which  befell  the 
Avelings." 


A  TALE  OF  FATE  89 

"  Loss  of  fortune,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  contrary.  For  this  ill-luck  had  a 
curious  limitation.  It  did  not  extend  beyond  the 
lives  of  the  hapless  Avelings.  The  ancient  lands 
and  wealth  remained  untouched.  Indeed,  the 
family  possessions  increased  at  a  pace  that  called 
wondering  attention  to  the  fast  diminishing  hold- 
ers of  it.  It  was  remarked  by  every  one  that 
their  lives  grew  shorter;  while,  under  the  growth 
of  modern  science,  the  average  mortal  span  has 
lengthened." 

"  And  was  there  no  reason  for  this  ?  "  Kent 
asked. 

"  None  whatever.  The  place  is  healthy,  there 
has  always  been  ample  wealth,  and  no  wearing 
responsibility." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  went  on: 

"  It  is  one  thing  to  die  in  the  fulness  of  years 
or  for  some  reason  of  physical  unfitness.  But  to 
be  submerged  in  a  period  of  gloom  and  snatched 
away  in  mysterious  death  is  a  destiny  to  test  the 
courage  even  of  a  man  like  Mr.  Aveling ! " 

"  Death?  "  ejaculated  Kent. 

"  Yes.  For  a  terrible  isolation  is  set  upon 
the  master  of  Roxmoor.  The  heir  who  succeeds 
is  seen  to  become  pale  and  spiritless  and  fade 
slowly  out  of  existence.  Unless,  in  the  course  of 
time,  he  meets  a  quicker  and  more  mysterious 
end." 


90  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent  was  staring  at  Bateson.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand," he  said  thickly.  "  How  can  Aveling 
die?  He  is  young,  and  in  perfect  health.  You 
surely  are  under  some  mistake." 

"  Mr.  Kent,  as  soon  as  the  allotted  time  has 
passed,  Mr.  Aveling  will  die.  There  is  no  help 
for  him.  Seven  times  in  seven  years  I  have  seen 
the  master  of  Roxmoor  laid  away." 

Kent  started  forward,  grasping  his  chair. 
"  You  must  be  mistaken,"  he  said,  with  white,  set 
lips. 

"  There  is  no  room  to  be  mistaken,"  said  Bate- 
son  solemnly.  "  The  fatal  change  set  in  at  once. 
I  know  it  sounds  like  a  fantastic  dream,  but,  when 
I  took  the  message  to  Mr.  Aveling,  I  was  shocked 
to  see  the  alteration  printed  on  his  careless  face. 
There  came  at  once  faint  foreshadowings  of  the 
familiar  change  which  made  this  strange  face  like 
the  well-known  ones  I  had  seen  grow  dark  and 
sphinx-like  in  the  shadows  of  Roxmoor.  I  started 
for  the  steamer,  horrified  and  shaken.  For  I  have 
been  long  in  the  family  councils,  but  never  be- 
fore has  the  doom  of  Roxmoor  taken  such  fear- 
ful strides." 

Kent's  attention  was  riveted  on  the  old  law- 
yer's face  as  he  proceeded  with  his  tale. 

"  This  was  sufficiently  alarming.  But  the 
ominous  change  had  grown  with  hideous  rapidity 
when  I  saw,  some  days  after  his  arrival  here,  what, 


A  TALE  OF  FATE  91 

to  my  startled  eyes,  appeared  to  be  the  late  mas- 
ter of  Roxmoor  rising  to  greet  me  in  the  sombre 
splendor  of  the  great  library.  The  face  I  thought 
was  dead  lived  before  me  in  strange  immortality." 

"  But  what  does  it  mean?  "  gasped  Kent. 

"  It  means  extinction  for  the  house  of  Avel- 
ing.  What  fate  presides  over  their  tragic  destiny, 
I  do  not  know.  But  their  doom  is  fixed,  for  Mr. 
Aveling  is  far  upon  the  fatal  way,  and  with  him 
the  race  dies." 

Kent  sat  huddled  together,  gray-faced  and  si- 
lent. Bateson's  words  sent  a  searching  light  over 
the  mysterious  conduct  of  Aveling's  friends.  The 
doom  of  Roxmoor  was  accepted  without  question 
by  them  all,  and  they  were  apparently  waiting  in 
sorrowful  acquiescence  for  the  end. 

But  Kent  was  not  of  that  mould.  There  was 
a  stubborn  resolution  carved  upon  his  still  face. 
"  You  think  that  Mr.  Aveling's  case  is  hopeless?  " 
he  said,  in  set  tones. 

The  lawyer  bent  his  head. 

"  Have  you  no  theories  to  offer? "  Kent's 
voice  was  gathering  depth  and  passion. 

Bateson  spread  out  his  hands.  "  There  are 
the  facts.  I  do  not  care  to  go  beyond  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  let  him  die  without  a  blow?  " 

"  I  am  ready  to  give  him  any  aid,  but  none 
lies  within  my  line  of  vision.  I  have  grown  old 
in  their  service  and  have  found,  through  many 


92  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

years,  that  we  can  only  wait  for  an  inevitable 
end." 

Kent  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet.  "  Well,  that 
may  seem  to  be  wise  and  right  to  you.  I  quarrel 
with  no  one  in  such  a  matter.  But  for  me?  I 
refuse  to  follow  the  old  tradition.  With  your 
help,  if  it  may  be, — without,  if  it  must  be, — I  mean 
to  know  the  reason  for  Roxmoor's  doom." 

A  slight  relaxation  played  about  the  lawyer's 
carefully  drilled  features.  "  What  do  you  pro- 
pose to  do  ?  "  he  quietly  asked. 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea.  But  this  terrible 
result  must  have  some  cause,  and  I  mean  to  find 
it." 

Bateson  fixed  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  on  the  young 
man's  resolute  face,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  might 
have  seemed  to  doubt  that  the  well-known  fate 
of  Roxmoor  could  hold  dominion  against  such  an 
indomitable  will.  But  his  words  destroyed  the  il- 
lusion. He  spoke  with  a  kind  of  sternness.  "  The 
Maker  of  the  universe  saw  fit  to  give  to  every 
man  empire  over  his  destiny,  and  no  one  will 
withhold  you  now.  But  it  is  only  fair  to  put 
within  your  grasp  the  power  to  knowingly  choose 
your  fate.  You  may  not  be  aware  of  the  danger 
which  interference  brings.  Let  me  just  hint, — 
it  might  be  possible  for  a  too  rash  courage  to 
share  Mr.  Aveling's  fate,"  he  said  meaningly. 

Kent  looked  steadily  into  the  keen  face;  and 


93 

then,  rising  to  all  his  superb  height,  he  hurled  his 
defiance  to  the  wild  fates  handling  Aveling's  des- 
tiny :  "  Neither  things  visible  nor  invisible  shall 
hinder  me.  Whatever  his  destiny  has  been,  I  have 
always  shared  it.  Whatever  it  may  be,  I  am  will- 
ing to  share  it  still,  for  I'll  travel  in  league  with 
devils,  if  need  be,  to  rescue  a  man  whose  life  I 
hold  dearer  than  my  own ! " 


CHAPTER  XV 

THIBTY-FIVE ! 

WHEN  Kent  descended  to  the  Red  Parlor  the 
next  morning,  they  were  all  waiting  for  him.  The 
lawyer's  dry  reserve  made  him  more  remote  than 
ever.  Mrs.  Aveling,  although  a  little  pale,  had 
recovered,  and  Aveling  was  in  good  spirits.  There 
was  another  interview  between  the  master  of  the 
house  and  Bateson,  while  Kent  was  left  to  his 
own  communings. 

His  thoughts  returned  at  once  to  the  conversa- 
tion with  Mr.  Bateson,  with  a  sense  of  horror 
scarcely  less  than  the  first  shock.  But,  in  spite 
of  this  mysterious  recital,  he  felt  fresh  hope.  He 
had,  at  least,  solid  ground  beneath  him.  Ned's 
alterations  betokened  a  real  and  threatening  crisis 
in  Roxmoor's  history,  which,  judging  from  Mrs. 
Aveling's  words,  had  some  close  connection  with 
the  Italian  Wing.  Kent  sprang  to  his  feet, 
anxious  to  contrive  a  search  of  those  closed 
rooms.  Aveling  was  safely  entangled  with  Bate- 
son. It  might  be  possible  to  make  the  visit  now 
without  discovery. 

94 


THIRTY-FIVE!  95 

He  slipped  cautiously  up  the  stairs.  By  some 
happening  the  locked  door  through  which  he  had 
been  taken  the  first  day  stood  open,  and  Kent 
went  through.  He  walked  through  several  cor- 
ridors, rambling  on  until  he  found  himself  in 
a  hallway  he  did  not  recognize.  He  carefully 
reconnoitred  the  passage.  His  thoughts  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  sound  of  footsteps  rattling  down 
the  corridor,  the  swift  feet  of  a  man  in  deadly 
haste.  Kent  withdrew  into  a  corner  as  Aveling 
sped  by.  His  deathly  pallor  utterly  changed 
him.  He  was  breathing  heavily  and  labored  for 
a  hastier  progress.  Mr.  Bateson,  carrying  an 
unlighted  taper  in  his  hand,  followed  at  a  dis- 
creet distance.  Both  men  were  gone  in  an  in- 
stant. Kent  started  hastily  forward,  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Mr.  Bateson  in  the  distance.  But 
they  were  lost  again  to  view  by  another  turn  in 
the  corridor,  and  Kent  gave  up  the  hopeless  pur- 
suit. He  returned  to  the  Red  Parlor,  pondering 
the  significance  of  Aveling's  quest,  which  he  con- 
jectured must  end  in  the  Italian  Wing.  He  did 
not  have  a  chance  to  speak  to  Mr.  Bateson  alone 
again,  but,  when  the  lawyer  took  his  leave,  Kent 
saw  that  entreaty,  "  Better  stay !  " 

The  day  the  old  lawyer  departed  a  fit  of  low- 
ered spirits  descended  upon  Aveling.  It  appeared 
there  had  been  some  stir  ring-up  of  musty  family 
records  in  their  interviews,  something  connected 


96  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

with  the  Italian  Wing.  In  two  days  Aveling  was 
a  changed  man.  Life  and  volition  seemed  to  de- 
part together.  Mrs.  Aveling  redoubled  her 
watchfulness.  In  his  relaxed  condition  a  cold,  of 
unusual  severity,  developed,  and  Dr.  Warren  was 
summoned.  Kent,  by  chance,  passed  him  in  the 
hall,  where  he  was  depositing  his  hat  and  gloves. 
There  was  more  than  professional  dignity  in  the 
grave,  concerned  face  he  wore.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Kent, 
where  will  I  find  you  when  I  come  down?  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  hear  of  Mr.  Aveling." 

Kent  admired  his  Oriental  calm.  "  I  will  be 
here,"  he  returned,  from  the  doorway  of  the  Red 
Parlor.  The  doctor  mounted  the  stairs. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  he  wants  to  ask 
me,  or  tell  me,  or  whatever  is  the  object  of  his 
inquisitorial  activity?  "  Kent  asked  of  a  bronze 
sphinx,  glimmering  in  a  dusky  corner.  The  sphinx 
returned  no  answer,  and  Kent  was  obliged  to  wait 
for  the  advent  of  the  doctor,  who  presently  en- 
tered the  room  with  his  stooping  gait. 

"  Mr.  Aveling's  cold  is  not  so  severe  as  I  ex- 
pected to  find  it,"  he  observed,  as  he  took  a 
seat. 

"  And  Mr.  Aveling?  " 

"Well,  Mr.  Aveling  has  not  enjoyed  good 
health  since  he  came  to  England."  He  stopped 
abruptly.  "Was  he  a  well  man  in  America?  " 

"  Perfectly  well,  always." 


THIRTY-FIVE!  97 

The  doctor  nodded  gravely. 

"  How  old  is  Mr.  Aveling? "  he  asked,  after 
a  pause,  leaning  toward  Kent. 

'*  Let  me  see "  Kent  ran  over  a  few  dates. 

"  Thirty-five." 

Dr.  Warren's  grave  face  became  stern.  Some 
unaccountable  impulse  prompted  Kent.  "  How 
old  was  the  late  master  of  Roxmoor?  " 

"  Thirty-five." 

Something  forced  him  on,  some  awful  chill 
of  the  soul.  "And  the  heir  before?" 

"  Thirty-five." 

Kent's  blood  began  to  freeze.  Dr.  Warren 
answered  his  next  unspoken  question.  "  They  all 
die  at  thirty-five !  " 

The  death-bells  boomed  in  Kent's  ears.  Dr. 
Warren's  face  grew  old. 

"  Of  what  did  the  late  Mr.  Aveling  die?  "  asked 
Kent's  husky  voice. 

"  He  was  found  dead." 

"  In  bed?  " 

"  No,  in  the  picture  gallery."  There  was  the 
faintest  expectation  in  his  voice.  "  Have  you 
seen  the  gallery  ?  " 

"No,  I  have  not." 

Dr.  Warren's  face  twitched  a  little.  He  inter- 
locked his  fingers.  "  There  is  a  portrait  of  an 
ancestor,  dressed  in  the  robes  of  a  Knight  Tem- 
plar, hanging  there.  Mr.  Aveling  was  found  lying 


98  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

beneath  it."  There  was  something  horrible  to 
Kent  in  his  cool  precision. 

"Did  you  say  that  Mr.  Aveling  is  exactly 
thirty-five?  "  The  quiet  face  gleamed  with  keen 
interest. 

"  No.  He  will  be  thirty-five  on  the  first  day 
of  November." 

The  doctor  nodded.     The  Fates  drove  hard! 

A  blinding  light  suddenly  broke  over  Kent.  He 
started  up  in  tense  interest.  "  Where  is  the  gal- 
lery situated,  Dr.  Warren?  " 

"In  the  Italian  Wing!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    PICTURE   GALLEEY 

KENT  was  stupefied  and  failed  to  notice  Dr. 
Warren's  keen  survey.  He  looked  up  startled  as 
the  doctor  sharply  spoke  his  name. 

"  Mr.  Kent,  I  feel  that  I  have  a  duty  to  you, 
as  well  as  to  the  master  of  Roxmoor.  Bateson 
tells  me  that  you  mean  to  interfere  between  Mr. 
Aveling  and  his  fate."  He  came  to  an  abrupt 
pause. 

"  I  certainly  shall,"  said  Kent  cheerfully. 

"  Then  I  must  use  my  authority  to  stop  you." 

"  Me !  Keep  me  from  helping  Aveling !  Why, 
man,  there  is  nothing  born  of  woman  that  can 
stop  me." 

"  It  is  a  sin  to  throw  your  life  away,"  said  Dr. 
Warren.  "  Mr.  Aveling  is  doomed,  and  to  ven- 
ture too  far  with  him  is  merely  to  step  into  the 
gulf." 

"  Step  in !  Why,  I  mean  to  jump  in,  if 
it's  necessary." 

Dr.  Warren  bent  a  long,  troubled  gaze  upon 
him.  "  I  admire  your  wonderful  courage,  but  I 

99 


100  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

must  insist.  I  shall  alarm  your  American  friends, 
unless  you  will  be  more  cautious." 

Kent  pulled  himself  up.  "  Dr.  Warren,  keep 
the  cable  hot  clean  around  the  world.  Summon 
every  respectable  Kent  you  can  lay  your  hands 
on.  But  not  even  the  sainted  dead  can  shake  my 
resolution." 

Dr.  Warren  gave  him  an  astonished  look. 
"  Have  you  no  regard  for  the  sacredness  of  hu- 
man life  ?  "  he  sternly  asked. 

"  Yes — too  much  to  see  Aveling  lost,"  Kent 
stubbornly  returned. 

"  But  no  one  can  save  Mr.  Aveling.  It  is  a 
fatality  nothing  can  avert,"  said  Dr.  Warren, 
with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

"I  can't  agree  with  that,"  said  Kent.  "I 
have  given  the  subject  the  deepest  consideration 
and  gone  searchingly  into  the  facts,  and  I  sol- 
emnly tell  you  Aveling  can  be  saved." 

"  Surely  you  misapprehend  the  situation,"  ex- 
claimed Dr.  Warren.  "  You  cannot  help  Mr. 
Aveling.  You'll  only  compass  your  own  destruc- 
tion." 

"  If  you'll  shift  your  point  of  view,  you'll  see 
what  I  mean.  I  believe  we  are  on  the  verge  of 
discovery,"  said  Kent,  with  deep  feeling. 

Dr.  Warren  glanced  sharply  at  him.    "  Why  ?  " 

"  Aveling  declares  the  power  upon  him  to  be 
a  personality.  Now  it  is  not  difficult  to  contrive 


THE  PICTURE  GALLERY  101 

one.  I  have,  for  instance,  built  one  out  of  some 
observations  of  my  own;  the  sinister  face  which 
I  saw  twice;  the  guilty  conscience  which  chained 
Aveling  one  night  in  the  little  chapel;  the  mem- 
ory of  religious  pilgrimage  I  roused  by  playing 
an  old  song,  and  some  personal  experiences  of  my 
own.  All  these  things  lie  within  the  scope  of  one 
personality,  and,  when  I  know  his  name,  I'll  strike 
the  trail  that  leads  out." 

Dr.  Warren  was  regarding  him  with  an  anxious 
face.  "  You  puzzle  me,  Mr.  Kent.  No  one  has 
ever  before  tried  to  deal  with  these  things  in  this 
way." 

"  That  is  where  I  hope  for  success.  I  have  a 
theory  to  hang  my  facts  upon;  that  is  why  they 
seemed  insignificant  before." 

"  And  what  is  your  theory  ?  "  asked  Dr.  War- 
ren, with  a  lift  of  interest. 

"  That  we  are  on  the  borders  of  another  world 
in  this  mystery  of  Aveling's." 

Dr.  Warren  discreetly  lowered  his  eyes.  "  You 
believe  that  it  is  the  dead  trying  for  communica- 
tion?" 

"  With  as  much  conviction  as  I  believe  in  my 
own  existence." 

"  And  what  is  your  ground  for  this — disturb- 
ing belief?  "  he  said,  in  tones  of  disapproval. 

"  I  have  no  grounds  in  logic  or  experience. 
But  the  known  and  tangible  can  furnish  no  relief 


102  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

for  this  strange  situation  at  Roxmoor.  And,  as 
the  universe  is  governed  by  law  to  its  smallest 
atom,  I  mean  to  invade  the  world  enclosed  within 
these  physical  facts,  for  there,  I  believe,  are  forged 
the  fetters  that  bind  Aveling." 

Dr.  Warren  fell  back  in  his  chair,  regarding 
Kent  with  an  expression  of  mingled  belief  and 
doubt.  "  Young  man,  from  what  well  of  miracles 
do  you  draw  such  wonderful  draughts  of  inspira- 
tion? I  can  feel  myself,  old  as  I  am,  tingle  with 
hope  for  a  man  I  know  is  doomed." 

Kent's  face  lit.  "  Come  with  us,"  he  said 
gently,  "  and  we  will  show  you  miracles  and  prove 
your  hope." 

Dr.  Warren  sighed  heavily  and  looked  down. 

"  Frankly,  I  would  stop  you  if  I  could ;  but 
your  young  blood  overpowers  my  slow  caution.  I 
can  only  earnestly  counsel  you  to  warn  your 
friends." 

*'  I  am  grateful  for  your  interest  in  me,"  Kent 
returned,  "  but  I  think  we'll  let  the  Kents  rest 
in  peace.  For  some  reason  I  feel  impelled  to 
believe  that  Ned's  chief  mission  in  the  world  is 
to  break  this  ancient  spell,  and  perhaps  a  gen- 
erous fate  allows  me  to  share  his  triumph.  I  shall 
not  alarm  my  friends,  but  I  do  most  earnestly  ask 
your  help." 

After  a  moment  Dr.  Warren,  with  a  movement 
of  rare  impulsiveness,  held  out  his  hand.  "  You 


THE  PICTURE  GALLERY  103 

rouse  some  strange  confidence  that  you  may  be 
right.  I  cannot  follow  you ;  I  belong  to  an  older 
generation.  But  I'll  help  you  as  far  as  my  pow- 
ers take  me." 

With  a  feeling  of  cheer  and  hope,  Kent  began 
a  close  watch  for  the  unseen  personality  that  hung 
over  Aveling.  September  went  out  wet  and  cold, 
and  the  weather  settled  down  in  a  steady  drizzle 
that  shut  the  small  circle  within  the  gray  walls 
of  Roxmoor.  One  afternoon  Mrs.  Aveling  sat 
busy,  apparently,  with  some  sewing.  Aveling, 
stretched  at  full  length  in  an  easy-chair  by  the 
window,  looked  out  at  the  blurred  landscape. 
Everything  was  wet  and  dripping.  His  discon- 
solate mood  broke  into  words.  "  Did  you  ever 
see  anything  more  dreary  than  that? "  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  have  the  queer  taste  to  like 
a  rainy  day,"  said  Kent,  joining  him  at  the  win- 
dow. "  See  what  a  delicate  mixture  of  color 
there  is, — hues  of  lilac  and  green  and  here  and 
there  touches  of  gold  and  flame." 

Something  about  Aveling  seemed  feebly  to  re- 
spond to  his  words.  He  noticed  it,  and  went  on : 

"  Now,  look  at  those  rolling  banks  of  fog  and 
fancy  a  gray  tapestry." 

Kent  felt  something  like  the  touched  string  of 
a  violin  as  he  spoke.  Aveling's  discontent  was 
fading. 


104.  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  The  trees  and  shrubbery  lose  their  form.  One 
might  fancy  them  to  be  nymphs  and  fauns." 

The  gleam  of  a  new  mood  peeped  out  from 
Aveling's  changing  face,  like  a  wild  thing  watch- 
ing. He  closed  his  eyes  and  sank  into  his  chair. 

"  Do  you  suppose  those  old  tapestry-makers 
got  ideas  from  things  like  these  ?  "  he  said  dream- 
ily, as  if  in  slumber.  He  settled  still  further  into 
his  chair,  his  eyelashes  swept  his  cheeks.  He  did 
not  answer  when  Kent  bent  over  and  anxiously 
called  his  name.  His  eyes  unclosed  after  a  min- 
ute or  two  had  passed  and  he  sat  up,  looking 
about  as  if  perplexed.  He  rose  and  took  a  step 
forward,  wavering  uncertainly,  and  then  seemed 
to  fall  into  the  rhythm  of  some  onward  move- 
ment. He  started  for  the  stairway  with  jerky 
motions. 

What — what  have  I  done?  thought  Kent,  in 
despair.  He  saw  that  Mrs.  Aveling  had  risen. 
A  spool  rolled  from  her  lap  and  crashed  against 
the  woodwork.  Aveling  did  not  notice.  He  went 
on.  Mrs.  Aveling's  face  was  ghastly,  the  tokens 
of  the  inevitable  were  upon  it.  She  turned  to 
Kent.  With  a  slight  motion  of  her  head  toward 
the  toiling  figure  halfway  up  the  stairs,  she  di- 
rected a  meaning  look  at  him.  He  understood 
and  followed  Aveling.  As  he  sprang  up  the  stairs 
his  last  glimpse  left  her  still  standing,  her  hands 
dropped  at  her  side.  There  was  something  about 


THE  PICTURE  GALLERY  105 

her  that  spelled  disaster.  He  remembered,  with 
a  thrill,  that  this  might  be  the  fulfilment  of 
his  own  prediction  that  they  were  on  the  verge 
of  a  revelation. 

He  followed  Aveling,  watching  closely  the  steps 
that  grew  steadily  more  assured.  They  passed  up 
the  wide  staircase  and  along  the  corridors,  strik- 
ing off  into  the  old,  main  portion  of  the  castle, 
now  seldom  visited.  The  ceilings  grew  lower,  the 
faded  decorations  and  battered  carvings  were  or- 
nate, until  Kent  realized  that  they  were  approach- 
ing the  Wing  occupied  by  the  lonely  Italian. 
Aveling  applied  a  key  to  one  of  the  doors.  In- 
stead of  the  rusty  movement  of  unused  hinges,  it 
swung  easily  under  Aveling's  touch,  as  if  fre- 
quently opened.  As  he  pushed  the  door  shut  after 
they  passed  through,  Kent  noticed  the  shifting, 
dull  fire  in  his  face.  It  was  not  the  subdued  pas- 
sion that  so  often  swayed  him,  but  a  brooding, 
haunted  reminiscence. 

The  apartment  in  which  they  stood  must  have 
been  flooded  with  sunshine  in  good  weather.  Even 
the  mists  straggled  through  the  southern  windows 
with  an  effect  of  gray  sunshine,  tempered  by  the 
silence  within  the  room,  and  mute  evidences  of 
bygone  splendor.  Aveling  moved  on  to  the  south- 
ern wall  of  the  room,  and  Kent  saw  the  train  of 
association  his  chance  words  had  touched. 

They  stood  before  a  magnificent  tapestry  of 


106  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Italian  make.  Aveling  ran  his  eyes  over  the  med- 
ley of  tints  and  contours.  There  was  joy  in  the 
kindling  face  that  explored  the  half-barbarous, 
sylvan  life  portrayed, — colors  and  forms  blent 
by  the  art  of  a  country  at  its  best;  Italy,  with 
every  resource  in  her  grasp,  weaving  the  fabric 
of  a  rich  and  splendid  dream. 

Aveling  began  to  speak  in  a  low,  hurried  mono- 
tone,— invocations  to  powers  invisible.  He  moved 
restlessly  on,  pausing  before  a  window,  a  nicked 
statue,  a  picture  hanging  in  the  half-lights, — only 
to  take  up  again  his  unresting,  onward  march. 
Kent  noticed  that  his  movements  were  erratic,  as 
of  a  person  endeavoring  to  find  a  hidden  portal 
and  meeting  failure.  Instead  of  a  battle  against 
invasion,  the  aspect  his  struggle  so  often  wore, 
it  seemed  like  the  uncertain  motion  of  one  who 
seeks. 

They  passed  through  the  various  rooms  of  the 
suite,  until  Aveling  turned  into  the  dim  light  of 
a  bedroom,  pausing  before  a  picture  sunk  in  the 
wall.  An  ancient  curtain,  swept  to  one  side,  in- 
dicated that  the  sight  of  it  was  sometimes  painful 
to  a  pair  of  eyes  long  since  vanished.  On  a  shelf 
beneath  several  tall  candlesticks  bore  the  traces 
of  burnt-out  candles,  which,  together  with  the 
crucifix  and  rosary  that  lay  beside  them,  gave 
the  place  the  appearance  of  a  shrine. 

As  Kent  stepped  to  Aveling's  side  he  became 


THE  PICTURE  GALLERY          107 

conscious  of  a  thrill,  as  if  a  strong,  magnetic 
current  exhaled  from  the  person  at  his  side. 
There  was  a  subtle,  yet  cutting,  impress  of  a  pow- 
erful personality,  as  of  one  richly  endowed  with 
powers  seldom  grasped  by  the  small  circle  of  one 
human  soul.  Aveling  was  drinking  in  the  pic- 
ture on  the  wall  with  the  eagerness  of  a  man 
gazing  upon  the  treasure  of  his  life. 

Kent  endeavored  to  follow  that  eagle  gaze,  but 
the  dim  nimbus  of  shade  that  hung  round  the  pic- 
ture allowed  nothing  more  than  the  assurance 
of  its  being  a  woman's  portrait.  A  long  string 
of  pearls,  a  soft-brown  head,  the  gleaming  column 
of  a  white  throat,  and  a  sweep  of  white  drapery 
were  all  that  the  blurred  and  faded  canvas  gave 
up  to  the  most  searching  gaze. 

Kent  forebore  to  rupture  Aveling's  abstraction. 
But,  to  his  relief,  a  long-drawn  sigh  fell  from 
him.  He  watched  to  see  the  cloud  fall.  Avel- 
ing ran  his  hand  across  his  forehead  and,  turn- 
ing, glared  upon  Kent  with  unseeing  eyes,  moving 
past  him  noiseless  as  a  shadow. 

Now  his  movements  dropped  their  indecision. 
With  rapid  motions  he  drove  back  through  the 
echoing  rooms,  turning  corners  so  abruptly  that 
several  times  he  struck  the  wall.  Once  his  head 
crashed  against  a  projecting  screen.  Kent  sup- 
pressed a  cry  with  difficulty;  but  Aveling  failed 
to  notice  it.  He  was  moving  eagerly  toward  an 


108  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

open  door,  and  passed  through  without  a  pause. 
Kent  followed,  halting  on  the  threshold,  for,  to 
his  stupefaction,  it  was  the  picture  gallery. 

When  Kent  entered  the  room  he  saw  that  to 
one  side,  still  as  one  of  the  painted  women  on  the 
wall,  waited  Mrs.  Aveling.  She  stood  to  one  side 
of  Aveling's  path,  who  drove  on,  unnoticing,  com- 
ing to  a  standstill  before  a  portrait  of  a  woman. 
With  all  the  difference  made  by  the  flood  of  light 
enveloping  it,  Kent  could  see  that  it  was  the 
counterpart  of  the  one  hanging  in  the  deserted 
chamber.  The  dimly-seen  drapery  was  a  bril- 
liant robe  of  white,  touched  with  bands  of  gold 
and  rose.  The  white  throat  gained  light  from 
the  strings  of  lustrous  pearls.  The  brown  head 
was  a  glory  of  dull  gold,  and  the  pure  oval  of  the 
delicate  face  was  but  a  setting  for  the  wide,  deep 
eyes  which  carried  in  their  depths  the  charm  of 
the  Mona  Lisa. 

But  what  was  the  other  magnetic  current  flow- 
ing from  them?  In  what  fair  dream  had  he  seen 
eyes  like  that?  Eyes  that  in  an  earlier  time  were 
but  the  promise  of  which  these  were  the  fulfil- 
ment. 

Kent,  lost  in  wonder,  approached  still  closer. 
But  the  baffling  mystery  receded  from  his  touch, 
as  a  form  of  mist  eludes  the  grasp.  He  fell  back 
a  step.  His  eye  turned  to  sweep  the  canvas  next 
to  it  A  tall,  bold  figure  of  a  -man,  magnificently 


THE  PICTURE  GALLERY          109 

proportioned,  clad  in  the  robes  of  a  Knight  Tem- 
plar, with  the  mien  and  bearing  of  a  man  bent 
on  holy  things.  Kent's  eye  went  upward,  and 
through  the  mists  of  time  and  distance,  with  the 
shadow  of  a  mystery,  stood  forth  the  image  of  his 
boyhood  friend.  From  the  high,  polished  brow 
swept  back  a  curving  mass  of  hair,  the  crest  of 
it  just  touched  with  white,  as  if  a  swiftly  passing 
motion  had  robbed  its  color.  Kent  recoiled  as  he 
met  a  pair  of  glittering,  demoniac  eyes,  in  which 
lurked  a  cowering  spirit,  fearfully  stained  by  some 
dark  experience,  yet  strangely  hallowed  by  the 
flight  of  time  and  the  consecration  of  scourge  and 
fast  and  vigil. 

Startled,  he  turned  about.  Down  Aveling's 
face  trickled  a  thin  stream  of  blood,  lending  to 
his  countenance  a  horror  that  removed  him  to 
a  strange  age  and  place.  Some  cosmic  flash 
seemed  to  place  on  Aveling's  head  the  blow  meant 
for  that  guilty  face  upon  the  canvas. 

"  Good  God,  man !  Is  it  you  ?  "  Kent's  fear- 
ful whisper  broke  up  Aveling's  death-like  quiet. 
A  sudden  fury  flamed  over  him.  He  raised  a  pair 
of  clenched  hands  and  darted  forward.  There 
was  murder  written  in  every  line  of  him. 

Like  a  flash  of  light,  Mrs.  Aveling  moved  be- 
tween them  and,  facing  Aveling,  raised  her  hand. 
Her  resolute  poise  carried  a  command  that 
pierced  his  lost  self.  His  fury  sank,  he  stood  fas- 


110  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

cinated,    shivering.      Mrs.    Aveling    turned    and 
pointed  to  the  door,  her  eyes  on  Kent: 


Kent  looked  anxiously  at  her  stricken  face. 

"Can't  I  help  you?    I  -  " 

Her  hand  still  pointed  to  the  door.  Her  lips 
moved,  but  only  the  commanding  eyes  said  "  Go." 
Kent  went  out  and  softly  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

THE    SECOND    PEBSON 

KENT  spent  the  next  day  alone,  vainly  won- 
dering what  secret  those  silent  rooms  upstairs  had 
witnessed  since  they  closed  upon  the  stricken 
couple  yesterday.  He  was  in  the  Red  Parlor 
just  before  the  dinner  hour,  turning  over  a  pile 
of  magazines,  when  Mrs.  Aveling  came  in.  She 
looked  paler  than  ever  in  the  ivory-tinted  dinner 
gown  she  wore.  There  was  a  chain  of  dull  gold 
about  her  slender  throat,  from  which  hung  an 
amethyst  cross.  Her  careful  toilette  seemed  a 
ghastly  mockery.  There  was  a  straining  of  her 
eggshell  outlines.  Her  eyes  were  deeper  and 
more  shadowy  than  ever.  But,  for  the  first  time, 
Kent  caught  the  sense  of  appeal  to  him — appeal 
for  aid.  How  gladly  he  would  help  that 
brave,  young  heart  of  hers,  if  only  he  knew 
how. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  quite  dull  to-day," 
she  said,  in  low,  sweet  tones.  "  Edward  has," — 
she  searched  for  a  word, — "  has  been  ill." 

Kent  ventured  to  be  a  little  pressing. 

"  Are  you  doing  right,  Mrs.  Aveling,  to  keep 
111 


112  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

an  old  friend  away, — when  he  is  ill?  They  say 
I  am  a  good  nurse,"  he  added  gently. 

He  could  not  fathom  the  deep  look  that  sprang 
upon  him  like  a  live  thing. 

"  I  don't  know — what  to  do,"  she  said  pite- 
ously,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together.  She 
looked  childish  and  helpless,  a  pathetic  con- 
trast to  the  commanding  figure  that  held  in 
check  the  fury  of  Aveling's  passion  in  the  old 
gallery. 

"  Has  he  had  the  doctor? "  asked  Kent,  un- 
certain what  next  to  say. 

"  No,  he  doesn't  need — the  doctor."  Her  words 
ended  in  a  painful  pause.  Didn't  need  the  doc- 
tor? Then  Aveling  was  not  ill. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Aveling,  if  you  will  let  an  old 
friend  help,  perhaps  we  can  do  much." 

"  He  reads  too  much — he  thinks  too  much,"  she 
said,  with  sudden  emphasis.  "  Don't  you  think  it 
is  injurious  to  read  too  much?  "  Her  eyes  fairly 
burned  into  Kent's.  A  slight  flush  sprang  upon 
her  cheeks,  which,  together  with  the  unnaturally 
brilliant  eyes  above  them,  gave  her  face  a  star- 
ing fixity. 

Kent  sank  back,  baffled.  There  was  something 
in  her  look  that  chilled  his  blood;  because  he  re- 
alized that,  for  some  reason,  she  could  not  put 
in  words  the  thing  that  gnawed  at  her.  And  yet 
every  line  of  her  begged,  implored  his  aid. 


THE  SECOND  PERSON  113 

She  started  violently,  her  whole  being  shivered. 
"  Hush !  He  is  coming." 

Kent  had  not  heard  a  sound,  but  for  several 
minutes  neither  one  moved.  The  door  swung 
noiselessly  ajar,  and  through  it  emerged  the  very 
counterpart  of  the  figure  Kent  had  seen  enclosed 
within  the  darkened  frame  upon  the  gallery  walls. 
The  Templar  garb,  the  austere  mien,  the  slight 
touch  of  white  upon  the  wavy  hair,  as  if  a  hand 
had  swept  across  it  and  left  its  impress. 

Kent,  with  a  curious  repulsion,  met  his  gaze, 
and  then  fell  back  in  horror.  The  personality 
for  which  he  had  so  unweariedly  searched  glittered 
from  the  steady  eyes  bent  upon  him,  for  the  Avel- 
ing  Kent  knew  had  utterly  vanished! 


CHAPTER  XVin 

A    BROKEN    SILENCE 

THE  following  afternoon  Kent  vainly  racked 
the  old  manor-house  for  entertainment.  Except 
for  the  brief  appearance  of  Mrs.  Aveling  at 
breakfast,  he  had  been  alone  the  entire  day,  and 
time  dragged  by  interminably  dull  and  dreary. 
A  lassitude  had  fallen  on  him  that  neutralized 
every  enjoyment,  and,  after  vain  efforts  spent  on 
books  and  music,  he  stepped  outside.  The  sky 
was  dull  and  lowering,  a  fine  drizzle  fell  at 
intervals. 

After  an  aimless  turn  about  the  damp  court- 
yard, he  sought  shelter  in  a  small  portico  which 
overlooked  a  considerable  portion  of  the  garden 
and  gave  a  somewhat  novel  view  of  the  castle. 
Kent  dropped  heavily  into  a  chair  and  stared  into 
the  foggy  distance. 

All  the  happenings  since  the  day  of  his  arrival 
passed  before  his  mind  like  scenes  at  a  play.  The 
first  shock  of  Aveling's  changed  face;  the  strange 
transformation  which  befell  Aveling  on  reaching 
Roxmoor,  and  his  weird  disappearance,  followed 
by  the  elusive  chain  of  events  which  culminated, 
114 


A  BROKEN  SILENCE  115 

step  by  step,  in  last  night's  astounding  revela- 
tion. For  so  it  stood  in  Kent's  mind  as  the  key 
to  occurrences  which  otherwise  seemed  like  the 
vagaries  of  a  disordered  brain.  His  expectations 
had  been  fully  carried  out.  Aveling  was  not 
merely  under  the  spell  of  an  historic  place,  nor 
was  he  the  victim  of  a  senseless  curse.  He  was 
dominated  by  a  person,  and  that  a  man  defined 
in  last  night's  ghastly  change  as  one  of  the  an- 
cient lords  of  Roxmoor. 

In  taking  leave  of  commonly  accepted  belief 
about  Roxmoor's  doom,  Kent  cut  himself  aloof 
from  much  friendly  aid  and  counsel.  All  of  Avel- 
ing's  friends  heard  of  Kent's  theories  with  stoic 
disregard.  This  he  did  not  greatly  mind.  But 
it  was  necessary  to  secure  Ned's  co-operation  at 
this  point,  and  he  knew  no  way  to  set  about  it. 
He  must  know  something  more  than  Bateson  told 
him  about  the  Lord  Aveling  who  chose  so  strange 
a  method  of  return.  For  this  was  clearly  not  an 
ordinary  case  of  double  consciousness.  It  bore  a 
deeper  significance  than  the  shifting  of  the  ele- 
ments of  personality.  It  was  the  intrusion  of 
another  man  for  a  purpose;  and  in  that  motive, 
Kent  believed,  lay  the  explanation  of  the  whole 
phenomenon. 

So  much  was  clear  in  the  mystery  before  him. 
For  once  admit  the  possibility  of  a  soul's  return, 
some  reasonable  motive  for  such  a  weird  reversal 


116  THE  MAN*  WHO  REAPS 

of  life's  events  must  exist;  and  this  motive  could 
have  its  beginning  only  in  the  dead  man's  life. 
No  one  seemed  able  to  provide  him  with  any  use- 
ful information,  for  Bateson's  knowledge  was  en- 
closed within  the  hard  shell  of  his  own  traditions, 
and  the  facts  he  gave  were  so  colored  by  his  own 
beliefs  as  to  be  useless.  Aveling  was  his  only 
resource,  and  how  to  open  up  the  subject  with 
him  was  a  matter  which  caused  Kent  much  pain- 
ful reflection.  Aveling  kept  up  a  steady,  un- 
moved reserve,  and  Kent  was  unable  to  calculate 
the  dangers  of  forcing  him  to  speech  or  the 
chances  of  convincing  him  that  his,  Kent's,  serv- 
ices could  be  of  use. 

The  stream  of  his  ruminations  changed  their 
course,  for  he  began  to  notice  that  his  eye  shifted 
continually  to  a  glass  door  which  opened  upon 
the  garden  not  far  away.  He  wondered  if  any- 
thing were  going  on  in  the  old  gray  pile  at  his 
back,  and  started  up  with  a  half-formed  resolu- 
tion to  go  in.  But  as  he  moved  the  door  showed 
a  streak  of  black  down  the  side,  which  widened 
until  Aveling's  form  appeared.  He  passed 
through  and  closed  it  noiselessly.  Then  he 
stepped  down  to  the  ground  and,  with  the  swift, 
serpentine  motion  Kent  knew  so  well,  glided  down 
a  winding  pathway  and  disappeared  beneath  the 
arched  entrance  to  a  moss-grown  tower  that  stood 
some  distance  away  from  the  main  structure.  It 


A  BROKEN  SILENCE  117 

was  a  ghostly  place,  much  frequented  by  bats  and 
owls,  and  bore  a  tradition  of  a  hapless  monk  con- 
fined there  during  the  Middle  Ages,  previous  to 
being  burned  at  the  stake.  It  was  said  to  re- 
sound with  groans  and  wails,  and  the  spirit  of 
the  old  monk  walked  at  midnight. 

Kent  studied  carefully  its  crumbling  walls  and 
the  narrow  slits  of  windows,  shut  in  with  iron 
gratings.  An  impulse  to  follow  Aveling  came 
to  him.  Just  at  that  moment  the  door  behind 
him  was  flung  violently  open,  and  Mrs.  Aveling, 
with  flushed  face  and  dishevelled  garments,  came 
through.  She  stopped  at  sight  of  Kent,  with  a 
sharp  exclamation:  "Where  is  Ned?  I  know 

something  has  happened  to  him "  She  broke 

off  in  a  sob. 

"  He  is  all  right ;  don't  be  frightened,"  said 
Kent  soothingly.  "  He  went  into  the  tower  just 
a  moment  ago  with  a  book  under  his  arm." 

She  glanced  across  to  the  ancient  tower;  a 
hungry  yearning  warped  her  face.  She  leaned 
wearily  against  the  wall.  "  I  fell  asleep — I  was 
so  tired — and,  when  I  woke,  he  was  gone."  She 
trembled  like  a  leaf  as  she  put  up  a  hand  to 
brush  back  a  stray  lock  of  hair  hanging  over 
her  face. 

"  You  needn't  worry, — he  is  all  right."  Kent 
repeated  the  words. 

She  looked  piteousljj  at  him.    "  I  never  let  him 


118  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

out  of  my  sight."  The  tears  welled  up  and  rolled 
silently  over  her  white  cheeks.  "  I  can't  stand 
the  strain  much  longer." 

Kent  bent  suddenly  toward  her.  "  I  wish  you'd 
let  me  share  your  trouble.  How  can  I  help  Ned?  " 

She  drew  herself  together, — her  eyes  like  wells, 
a  frozen  horror  in  them. 

"  I— don't— know." 

Her  hands  dropped  at  her  side  like  stones. 
She  looked  in  her  mournful  beauty  like  a  mute 
image  of  sorrow;  the  sad,  stricken  eyes  resting 
upon  the  wall  of  stone  that  hid  her  treasure. 

"  Does  he  know  ?  "  ventured  Kent. 

She  silently  shook  her  head. 

"Could  he  be  induced  to  talk?"  Kent  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  I  wish  you'd  try.  I  be- 
lieve he  wants  to  tell  you  something." 

Kent  glanced  at  the  tower.  "  Perhaps  I  had 
better  go  over." 

"  If  you  only  would !  " 

Kent  crossed  the  intervening  space  with  quick 
steps,  the  wet  gravel  crunching  beneath  his  feet. 
The  rain  had  ceased,  but  a  silvery  mist  sparkled 
upon  the  leaves.  The  lower  floor  of  the  tower 
was  simply  a  rough,  empty  chamber,  from  which 
a  flight  of  heavy  stone  steps  wound  to  the  next 
floor.  Kent  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  ad- 
vancing to  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  sent  his  deep 
voice  echoing  up  the  gloomy  cavern.  The  rever- 


A  BROKEN  SILENCE  119 

berations  woke  a  thousand  tongues  that  sent  back 
his  voice  strangely  transformed.  Aveling's  face, 
crossed  by  a  black-barred,  gray  light,  suddenly 
started  out  of  the  shadows  above. 

"  I  couldn't  find  a  horn  to  wind,"  Kent  sang 
out,  "  so  I  gave  an  imitation  in  my  best  style. 
May  I  come  up  ?  " 

Aveling's  grim  face  relaxed  in  a  mirthless 
smile.  "  Come  along,"  he  said  shortly. 

Kent  mounted  the  steps  to  a  small  vestibule 
lighted  dimly  by  a  narrow  slit  in  the  wall,  which 
had  thrown  the  eerie  light  across  Aveling's  face. 
To  one  side  another  flight  of  steps  wound  upward, 
suggestive  of  other  flights  curving  into  the  owl- 
haunted  regions  above.  To  the  other,  an  open 
door  gave  access  to  a  room  into  which  Aveling 
beckoned  Kent  to  come,  and  closed  the  door. 

An  eerie  sense  of  being  let  into  another  per- 
son's life  laid  hold  of  Kent  as  his  glance  went 
round  the  room.  The  circular  walls  were  lined 
with  bookcases,  so  high  that  a  ladder  was  needed 
to  reach  the  topmost  shelves.  They  were  filled 
with  the  sober  drab  and  brown  of  a  scholar's 
library.  At  one  side  of  the  room  was  an  arrange- 
ment of  things  which  Kent  recognized  as  an  ama- 
teur laboratory;  while  in  the  centre  stood  a  mas- 
sive, antique  table,  equipped  with  a  multitude  of 
small  drawers.  The  dingy  green  cover  was  lit- 
tered with  note-books,  pens,  and  ink,  and  sheets 


120  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

of  paper  closely  filled  with  writing.  It  was  the 
workshop  of  a  man  accustomed  to  hours  of  pa- 
tient, laborious  research. 

Kent  dared  not  look  at  Aveling,  who  stood  with 
one  hand  resting  on  the  table.  He  vainly  tried 
to  connect  the  grave,  serious  figure  with  the  debo- 
nair associations  of  the  past.  He  knew  now  the 
meaning  of  the  slight  droop  of  Aveling's  head 
and  the  curving  rise  of  shoulders  above  it — the 
shape  of  a  man  accustomed  to  work  at  a  desk. 
He  tried  to  escape  the  keen  gaze  that  made  ef- 
fort to  shackle  his  attention.  An  idea  came  to 
him.  Had  he  been  seen  lounging  in  the  porch, 
and  did  Aveling  deliberately  trap  him  here?  He 
hastily  began  to  speak: 

"Well,  this  is  a  jolly  old  place."  The  hol- 
lowness  of  his  own  desperate  cheerfulness  startled 
Kent  himself. 

"  I  don't — know,"  came  the  hesitating  answer. 
"  I  wouldn't  call  it  exactly — jolly." 

Kent  felt  the  cold  sweat  ooze  from  every  pore. 
Aveling  still  stood  motionless,  eyeing  Kent  with 
the  look  of  a  man  who  expected  him  to  read  the 
message  the  old  walls  were  giving  to  his  dull 
senses.  But  Kent  vainly  searched  for  his  deliv- 
erance. 

A  shaft  of  rainy  sunlight  broke  through  one 
of  the  high,  narrow  windows  and  struck  into  the 
gray  gloom,  pointing  downward  like  a  finger,  un- 


A  BROKEN  SILENCE 

til  it  rested  upon  some  rows  of  books,  where  the 
latticed  doors  stood  slightly  ajar.  Kent  instantly 
darted  forward  as  if  driven,  not  seeming  to  have 
power  over  his  footsteps,  until  they  ceased  be- 
fore the  rows  of  illuminated  shelves.  A  loud, 
quick  breathing  at  his  ear  warned  him  that  Avel- 
ing  had  followed. 

Kent  ran  his  eye  over  the  titles  standing  clear 
against  the  dark  covers, — "  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology," "  Double  Consciousness,"  "  Uncon- 
scious Memory,"  "  Bondage  of  the  Will," 
"  Phantasms  of  the  Dead."  His  eye  streamed 
on — memory — again  double  consciousness — dou- 
ble memory, — poor  Aveling's  secret  was  unveiling 
itself  in  these  harmless  tomes,  their  dark  signifi- 
cance leading  the  trail  into  the  morass  upon  which 
Kent's  attention  finally  rested, — big,  bold,  staring 
letters  of  ghastly  white  that  unsealed  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing's dread, — "  Suicide." 

Kent  stood  frozen  to  the  spot  with  horror. 
Aveling  was  searching  madly  for  some  secret  hid- 
den within  the  shadow-land  between  the  soul  and 
its  walls  of  clay. 

Mechanically,  Kent  put  out  his  hand  and  drew 
a  volume  from  the  shelf.  The  slight  groan  that 
came  from  the  closely  packed  shelves  made  him 
start  and  the  book  tumbled  to  the  floor.  He 
bent  over  to  pick  it  up?  marvelling  at  his  shaken 
nerves. 


"  I  didn't  realize  that  you  were  so  interested  in 
psychic  research,  Aveling,"  he  said  lightly.  He 
leafed  the  book,  but  for  his  life  he  could  not  see 
a  word.  Aveling  had  retreated  to  the  table.  He 
shrank  a  little  as  Kent's  lifted  gaze  met  his. 

"  Old  Professor  Boyce — you  remember  him?  " — • 
Kent  went  on — "  died  and  bequeathed  that  part 
of  his  library  to  me.  He  was  always  in  a  pet  with 
the  authorities  in  science,  and  he  remarked  in  his 
will,  with  considerable  sarcasm,  that  I  was  the 
only  man  in  American  who  had  a  glimmer  of  rea- 
son about  the  new  psychology "  Kent  broke 

off,  amazed  at  the  sudden  fire  that  flamed  from 
Aveling  as  he  lifted  his  voice  in  passionate  speech. 

"  Yes — I  know  you  are.  That's  why  I  sent  for 
you ! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

MAEIOLA 

KENT  was  silenced  by  this  startling  announce- 
ment. Then  he  had  done  well  to  defy  Dr.  War- 
ren's friendly  warnings. 

"  So  I  can  be  of  use,"  he  quietly  observed, 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  magazine  selected 
carelessly  from  a  heap  beside  the  table.  "  In 
what  way?  " 

Kent's  quiet  manner  and  matter-of-fact  words 
calmed  Aveling.  His  tremor  departed  and  his 
face  relaxed.  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't 
know,  Kent,"  he  replied.  "  But  something  is 
wrong  with  me,  something  threatens  my  life.  I 
will  go  the  way  they  all  did,  unless  we  can  un- 
ravel the  mystery." 

Kent  directed  a  keen  glance  at  him.  "  Why  do 
you  feel  so  sure  you  will  die?  " 

Aveling  took  hold  of  a  chair  with  an  uncertain 
grasp.  "  We  all  do,  Kent ;  we  all  do,"  he  said, 
in  a  high-pitched,  helpless  tone,  as  if  he  belonged 
to  a  band  of  outlaws. 

"  Is  that  the  only  reason?  " 
123 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Aveling  glanced  fearfully  about  the  circular 
chamber,  as  if  they  might  be  overheard,  and, 
creeping  silently  nearer,  lowered  his  voice,  speak- 
ing rapidly.  "  No,  there  is  something  more.  I 
feel  my  strength  grow  less  every  day.  My  nerves 
are  loose  as  fiddle-strings,  and  my  muscles  soft 
and  useless.  Why,  man, — I  can't  handle  a  pair 
of  clubs  or  dumb-bells  any  more."  He  was  breath- 
less and  spent,  but  wore  the  look  of  one  relieved 
of  a  burden,  as  if  the  mere  act  of  speech  eased 
him. 

Kent  was  rudely  faced  with  a  fact  he  had  re- 
fused to  see,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  to  reassure 
himself.  "  I  think  you  are  out  of  practice,  Ned. 
Let  us  try  the  effect  of  some  regular  work  to- 
gether." 

Aveling  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  willing  to  try 
anything,  but  it  is  of  no  use  to  hope  for  results 
from  exercise.  It  goes  too  deep.  Something  is 
tapping  my  very  life-springs."  He  went  on  after 
a  moment's  pause,  "  Why,  Kent,  I  made  a  special 
point  of  athletics  after  I  came  here,  and  there 
has  been  a  steady  decline  of  strength." 

Kent  was  startled,  but  did  not  speak  until  he 
felt  Aveling's  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Say,  Kent — 
you  can  help  a  fellow.  A  man  can  face  death, 

but  this  ghastly  spinning  around  a  whirlpool " 

He  broke  off,  shivering  violently. 

Kent  looked  quietly  into  the  blanched  counte- 


MARIOLA  125 

nance.  "  Yes,  Ned.  I  am  sure  there  is  a  way 
to  help  you,  and  we'll  never  rest  until  we  find  it. 
But,  first,  I'd  like  to  have  a  little  talk  about  this 
ancestor  of  yours  whose  portrait  you  so  strongly 
resemble." 

"  The  resemblance  is  not  the  strangest  part," 
said  Aveling.  "  Every  reigning  heir,  after  a 
short  residence  here,  begins  to  look  like  that  por- 
trait. It  has  been  observed  over  and  over." 

"  Well,  then,  that  furnishes  a  beginning,"  said 
Kent. 

"  Ah !  but  the  next  step  is  the  difficulty.  We 
never  get  to  that." 

"  But  don't  you  see,  Aveling,  that  all  these 
strange  occurrences  centre  about  a  personality; 
and  that  every  incident  identifies  it  with  the  old 
Templar.  Now  there  must  be  a  reason  for  this. 
If  a  former  lord  of  Roxmoor  impresses  himself 
upon  his  heirs  with  such  terrible  force  as  to 
affect  their  very  lives,  there  exists  a  cause  for  it. 
What  is  the  feeling  that  you  have  when  these 
seizures  come?  " 

"  That's  just  the  trouble.  I  can't  remember.  I 
am  only  conscious  of  some  force  gripping  me  that 
is  stronger  than  my  own.  Then  everything  is  a 
blank  until  it  is  all  over." 

Kent  thought  a  moment.  It  was  always  re- 
morse or  penance  that  inspired  Aveling's  moods. 
"  Tell  me  something  about  this  Lord  Aveling," 


126  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

he  said.  "  I  questioned  Bateson  once  or  twice,  but 
he  gave  me  little  that  was  of  use." 

"  He  lived  during  the  Middle  Ages,"  Aveling 
readily  replied.  "  He  became  a  powerful  figure 
in  the  court  of  Henry  IV,  one  of  the  king's  most 
valued  advisers,  history  tells  us." 

"  There  is  nothing  in  his  history  to  suggest  any 
reason  for  remorse?" 

"  Not  the  least,"  said  Aveling,  in  evident  sur- 
prise. "  He  was  of  great  service  to  the  king, 
and,  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  to  whom  he  paid 
a  tender  devotion  quite  out  of  keeping  with  his 
rude  time,  he  became  highly  religious.  In  fact, 
all  the  records  show  him  to  be  a  benevolent,  pious 
man,  devoted  to  family,  king,  and  country." 

This  baffling  story  tallied  exactly  with  Bate- 
son's  tale.  However,  they  were  to  make  head- 
way; it  was  not  to  be  in  a  fresh  examination  of 
his  history,  but  in  a  more  careful  consideration 
of  the  human  elements  in  the  problem.  Incon- 
gruous as  it  might  seem,  there  must  somewhere  be 
a  link  which  would  connect  the  memories  of  a 
pious  man  with  a  conscience  that  seven  centuries 
could  not  rest. 

He  was  an  interesting  character,  this  strange 
old  man,  who  grew  more  lovable  and  pious  as 
he  was  revealed.  Kent  liked  the  touch  of  finer 
feeling  in  his  devotion  to  his  wife.  It  must  have 
been  something  rare  to  carry  the  story  through 


MARIOLA  127 

so  many  generations.  This  deviation  from  the 
common  track  interested  Kent.  He  fancied  her 
lovely  and  gracious,  to  inspire  so  deep  a  feeling. 
"  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  wife  for  whom 
the  Lord  Aveling  cared  with  so  much  tenderness  ?  " 

"  Very  little  beyond  her  name.  She  was  called 
the  Lady  Mariola." 

"  What  an  odd  name !    Not  English,  surely." 

"  She  was  an  Italian."  Something  in  the  con- 
versation vitalized  Aveling's  gloomy  mood.  He 
quivered  with  a  current  of  life.  "  How  would 
you  like  to  see  the  tomb  where  he  and  his  wife 
lie  buried  ?  "  Aveling  unexpectedly  asked.  "  We 
might  go  out  now." 

Kent  gave  assent.  There  was  some  mystery 
in  Aveling's  manner,  but  he  volunteered  no 
further  information  as  Kent  followed  him  out  of 
the  tower. 

The  rain  had  now  entirely  ceased.  The  sun 
shone  at  intervals.  Aveling  crossed  the  courtyard 
and  struck  into  a  bypath.  The  woods  here 
seemed  full  of  a  neglected  and  choking  under- 
growth, from  which  they  emerged  upon  a  broad 
path,  deserted  and  overgrown.  Weeds  stood  rank 
and  high  in  the  gravel.  Wild  things  hopped  un- 
molested through  it.  The  path  curved  away,  in 
one  direction,  to  the  castle ;  and  in  the  other,  to- 
ward a  gate,  rusty  with  disuse.  To  this  gate 
Aveling  directed  his  steps.  He  turned  aside  and, 


128  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

fumbling  among  the  bushes,  applied  a  key  to  a 
small  gate.  It  opened,  and  he  stood  aside  to  let 
Kent  through.  They  came  out  upon  a  road; 
walking  down  a  little  distance,  and  then  through 
another  gate,  and  they  were  in  an  old  cemetery. 

"  Do  you  know  what  that  path  was  through 
which  we  came  ?  "  asked  Aveling,  with  impetuous 
haste. 

"  No." 

"  There  is  a  tradition  that,  unless  the  dead 
lord  of  the  manor  is  carried  down  that  path,  he 
goes  to  an  unquiet  grave." 

"  And  did  any  one  ever  violate  the  tradition  ?  " 
asked  Kent  lightly. 

"  It  has  been  done — just  once." 

The  very  perceptibly  deepening  melancholy  of 
his  mood  warned  Kent  into  silence.  Aveling  struck 
into  a  sharper  gait,  with  a  growing  abstraction. 
He  turned  into  a  hawthorn  path,  which  led  to  a 
church  standing  within  the  manor  lines.  The 
slanting  light  of  afternoon  fell  gently  on  the 
time-stained  walls.  Aveling,  growing  more  moody 
under  the  solemn  spell  of  the  place,  pushed  on 
into  the  church,  a  stealthy  stillness  marking  every 
step.  Inside,  he  paused  before  an  ancient  tomb, 
— a  beautiful  recumbent  effigy  in  copper  of  a  long- 
departed  Aveling.  With  a  sudden  casting  off  of 
caution,  Kent  asked  about  the  ancestor  whose 
funeral  train  had  broken  family  custom.  Avel- 


MARIOLA  129 

ing  turned  away.  A  few  steps  brought  them  to 
an  ornate  tomb  dating  from  the  middle  centu- 
ries. Aveling  let  his  eyes  rest  upon  it. 

"  Here  lies  the  old  Lord  Aveling,  whose  por- 
trait hangs  in  the  gallery  and  whose  funeral  train 
did  not  come  down  the  path." 

Kent  understood  that  Aveling  attached  some 
significance  to  the  old  legend.  As  he  continued 
to  gaze  at  the  tomb  the  sense  of  a  magnetic  pres- 
ence came  to  him,  a  rich  and  powerful  person- 
ality, a  pervading  will  and  purpose  that  chained 
the  senses.  He  tried  to  shake  it  off,  but  it  laid 
hold  of  him  with  an  iron  clutch.  There  was  a 
stir  of  fear  in  his  blood  that  chilled  the  warm 
currents  as  that  unseen  presence  tugged  at  him, 
and  the  strange  influence  that  so  often  struck 
from  Aveling's  moods  invaded  his  mind.  There 
was  a  swift  intuition  of  danger,  as  if  he  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  the  abyss  which  was  slowly 
engulfing  the  man  at  his  side. 

Aveling's  manner  grew  more  pre-occupied.  He 
muttered  uneasily  and  made  impatient  gestures, 
but  they  had  a  new  significance.  It  was  not  the 
manner  of  a  man  who  evades,  but  something  more 
vital  that  yet  eluded  Kent's  grasp.  It  was  pos- 
sible that  he  might  have  something  more  to  tell. 
Aveling  turned  abruptly  from  an  old  monument 
they  were  examining.  "  Come  on — let's  go  out- 
side." 


130  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent  noticed  a  lightening  of  his  countenance, 
a  flash  of  smouldering  fire  in  his  eye.  They  passed 
out  through  a  side  door  into  the  churchyard  and 
moved  among  the  fallen  tombstones,  time-stained 
and  lichen-covered.  Rosemary  and  rue  reminded 
the  passer-by  that  here  lay  human  dust. 

A  chill  struck  through  Kent  as  he  bent  over 
an  old  stone.  He  started  slightly  and  looked 
up,  to  meet  Aveling's  piercing  eyes,  instantly 
withdrawn.  Kent  shook  off  the  unpleasant  im- 
pression and  followed  as  Aveling  moved  away, 
but  he  was  distinctly  conscious  of  the  close-kept 
watch  upon  him.  They  were  passing  a  row  of 
graves  whose  stones  were  almost  hidden  by  small 
fir-trees.  Aveling  rapidly  walked  on,  while  Kent 
stooped  to  decipher  the  almost  obliterated  names. 
When  Kent  joined  him  he  was  standing  with 
bared  head  looking  down,  with  deep  emotion,  at 
a  plain,  single  gravestone  placed  against  a  back- 
ground of  weeping  willows.  As  Kent  stepped  to 
his  side  the  sun  dropped  behind  a  bank  of  clouds, 
seeming  to  let  down  a  pall  even  in  that  place  of 
sorrow.  Aveling  smothered  a  cry. 

He  continued  immovable,  and  Kent  bent  his 
scrutiny  upon  the  stone.  There  was  nothing  to 
catch  the  eye,  except  its  newness.  It  could  not 
be  old.  Kent's  searching  gaze  soon  saw  the  date 
— less  than  two  years  old — and  the  name,  "  Mari- 
ola,  wife  of "  The  name  was  illegible  to  one 


MARIOLA  131 

in  Kent's  position.  The  words,  cut  into  the 
stone,  were  lost  in  the  slightly  mottled  grain. 
But  the  name,  "  Mariola,"  rang  in  his  brain  with 
a  vain  effort  to  connect  this  evidently  humble 
woman,  who  had  recently  lived,  with  the  noble 
lady  who  was  the  object  of  the  old  lord's  tender 
love. 

Unable  to  fathom  the  design  which  had  brought 
him  here  with  so  laborious  an  approach,  Kent 
dared  not  question  Aveling.  Conscious  of  the 
shifting  scrutiny  that  swept  from  the  humble 
grave  to  himself  and  back  again,  he  stood  still 
and  continued  his  quiet  inspection.  There  was 
nothing  to  suggest  the  smallest  clue  to  work 
upon. 

"Well,  shall  we  move  on?"  There  was  dis- 
tinct disappointment  in  the  even  tones  and  a  sick- 
ened intonation  which  Kent  instantly  divined  to 
mean  that  the  grave  had  withheld  a  secret.  He 
felt  sure  now  that  this  was  the  cemetery  which 
Aveling  brought  him  once  before  to  see.  He  was 
evidently  on  the  search  for  something  and  plainly 
wanted  Kent  to  see  a  thing  which  somehow  es- 
caped him. 

Aveling  looked  wistfully  up  at  the  sullen  sky 
and  turned  reluctantly  away.  For  the  time  his 
search  was  baffled.  All  the  fire  and  energy  de- 
parted from  him.  He  sank  into  a  lassitude  that 
increased  with  each  flagging  step.  Kent  racked 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

his  brain  for  the  few  characteristics  of  that  quiet 
grave.  He  remembered  Aveling's  distressed  out- 
cry when  the  sun  disappeared.  The  other  visit 
had  been  made  at  this  hour.  Then,  at  the  earliest 
opportunity  he  must  seek  that  grave, — at  sunset, 
and  alone. 

As  they  stepped  into  the  road  Aveling  turned 
off  in  a  new  direction,  which  Kent  judged  was  to 
lead  to  another  entrance  than  the  grass-grown 
funeral  path.  He  was  mentally  turning  over  his 
recollections  of  the  first  walk  to  the  cemetery. 
From  what  side  had  they  approached  it?  He  saw 
nothing  to-day  that  looked  the  least  bit  familiar. 

They  were  suddenly  confronted  by  a  little  girl, 
shyly  holding  up  to  Aveling  a  basket  of  black- 
berries. It  was  the  same  child  they  had  met 
before.  Aveling  looked  at  her  as  if  confused. 

"  They  are  for  you.  I  picked  them  for  you," 
she  said  softly,  her  small  face  wreathed  in  a  win- 
ning smile. 

He  made  a  violent  motion.  "  For  Heaven's 
sake,  child,  eat  them  yourself.  I  don't  want 
them ;"  and,  pushing  roughly  past  her,  he  walked 
hastily  away. 

The  child  shrank  as  if  struck,  and,  after  a 
glance  at  the  retreating  figure,  turned  a  pitiful 
face  up  to  Kent.  He  bent  over  her  and,  taking 
the  basket,  passed  his  hand  across  her  head. 

"  I  will  take  the  berries  home  to  him.     I  know 


MARIOLA  133 

he  will  be  glad  to  have  them.  You  mustn't  mind 
— he  is  very  tired  to-day." 

"Is  he  angry?  What  did  I  do?"  A  tear, 
quivering  on  the  long  fringe  of  each  dark  eye, 
fell  on  the  soft,  blooming  cheeks  and  rolled  down. 
She  put  up  her  hand  and  brushed  them  away. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Kent  heartily.  "  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  I  am  going  to  give  your  present  to 
him  and  I  know  he  will  be  pleased." 

The  assurance  so  firmly  given  won  back  the 
smile  that  so  glorified  her  small,  dark  face.  Kent 
watched  her  keenly  for  a  moment,  and  then  went 
on.  Where  had  he  seen  that  face,  ennobled  by 
time  and  opportunity?  And  why  did  this  child 
appear  at  every  turn  of  the  road?  He  wheeled  in 
his  path,  struck  by  a  sudden  thought.  "  What  is 
your  name,  little  girl?  " 

"  Mariola." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  KEY 

THE  next  morning  a  dish  of  blackberries  was 
placed  beside  Aveling  at  the  table.  He  looked 
sharply  at  his  wife.  "  What  is  this  ?  "  he  said, 
with  annoyance  in  his  tone. 

"  Mariola  sent  them  to  you,  dear.  She  ex- 
pressly said  they  were  for  you,"  returned  Mrs. 
Aveling. 

He  did  not  look  up,  but  put  out  his  hand  to 
draw  them  near.  He  ate  them  all,  but  every  one 
was  choked  down  an  evidently  unwilling  throat, 
with  the  humility  and  significance  of  an  act  of 
penance. 

He  was  spent  and  listless,  showing  little  inter- 
est in  anything.  At  Kent's  suggestion  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing sent  for  the  family  at  Melton  Abbey  to  come 
in  to  tea,  and  they  spent  the  day  in  quiet  antici- 
pation of  that  event. 

In  the  intervals  of  chess  and  bridge,  or  any 
entertainment  to  which  Aveling  could  be  induced 
to  give  his  scant  attention,  Kent's  mind  was  busy 
with  the  curious  circumstances  concerned  in  that 
odd  name,  Mariola.  He  was  convinced  that  some- 
134 


A  KEY  135 

thing  of  vital  importance  lay  in  this  apparently 
disconnected  fact,  and  he  stealthily  hoped  that  it 
might  furnish  the  clue  they  so  sorely  needed.  The 
fast  approaching  birthday  impressed  him  with 
the  need  for  haste.  Dr.  Warren  said  they  all  died 
at  thirty-five,  and  Aveling  would  reach  that  fatal 
age  in  seventeen  days,  a  fact  which  occasioned 
fresh  dismay  to  Kent,  for  Aveling  lost  strength 
daily.  His  weakness  was  alarming  and  his  face 
was  heavily  lined. 

The  gloom  that  lay  upon  the  house  lifted  when 
the  party  came  from  the  Abbey,  bringing  Betty 
Gary  and  some  other  people  Kent  had  met.  He 
was  talking  with  a  young  beauty,  who  had  made 
a  sensation  in  London  during  the  last  season, 
when  a  voice  fell  upon  his  astonished  ears. 

"  Why,  Mary  Endicott,"  he  said,  putting  out 
both  his  hands. 

The  woman  he  addressed  was  tall  and  hand- 
some, with  iron-gray  hair  and  full,  expressive  eyes 
that  danced  as  she  met  his  effusive  greeting. 

"  Well,  it  is  worth  while  to  cross  the  Atlantic 
just  to  receive  such  a  welcome,"  she  said.  She 
turned  aside  to  greet  Aveling,  who,  as  Kent  saw, 
was  equally  surprised  and  pleased. 

"  Lady  Melton,  do  you  keep  these  treasures 
in  your  pockets  to  dazzle  your  friends?"  said 
Aveling.  He  spoke  with  careless  good-humor,  and 
she  made  a  laughing  answer. 


136  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

The  little  incident  did  not  so  easily  leave  Kent's 
mind.  A  fleeting  look  of  consciousness  which 
crossed  Mrs.  Aveling's  face  caught  his  attention. 
Mary  Endicott,  the  cousin  who  had  been  foster- 
mother  to  Mrs.  Aveling  after  her  own  mother 
died,  must  have  been  sent  for.  Kent  had  known 
her  from  boyhood.  He  was  glad  she  was 
there. 

The  chatter  around  him  became  more  lively. 
Some  one  suggested  an  excursion  through  the 
house.  Aveling  fell  in  with  the  plan  at  once;  but 
Kent  saw  that  he  made  the  tour  as  short  as  pos- 
sible, and  led  the  way  again  to  the  great  hallway, 
catching  an  excuse  from  some  admirer  of  old 
armor.  The  collection  in  the  hall  was  old  and 
famous.  Kent  also  noticed  that  he  contrived  an 
earnest  talk  with  Miss  Endicott,  and  then  moved 
toward  Lady  Melton.  The  conversation  had 
fallen  a  little,  and  Miss  Endicott's  rich  voice  rang 
out  in  the  quiet : 

"  When  you  have  grown  up  with  an  English 
novel  in  your  hands,  it  seems  as  if  you  were  re- 
turning home  when  you  actually  see  the  place 
where  the  scenes  are  laid." 

"  I  often  wonder  if  Americans  are  not  more 
deeply  touched  by  our  garment  of  age  than  we 
are,"  said  Lord  Melton.  His  wife  was  talking 
to  Kent,  who  closely  watched  her  as  she  directed 
a  frowning  attention  upon  her  lord. 


A  KEY  137 

"  Possibly  it  is  so,"  returned  Miss  Endicott. 
"  We  cannot  help  feeling  a  little  green." 

Lord  Melton  was  greatly  amused.  "  Green !  " 
he  repeated.  "  One  would  not  imagine  it.  Do 
you  always  conceal  your  feelings  with  such  notable 
success  ?  " 

All  at  once  Miss  Endicott  was  stiffened  in  some 
mood  of  deep  abstraction.  She  stood  near  the 
foot  of  the  stairway.  "  I  am  not  sure,"  she  said. 
A  slight  rigidity  settled  upon  her.  "  I  am  not 
sure,"  she  repeated  with  slow,  mechanical  lips. 
"  I  am  not  sure." 

Lord  Melton's  face  overspread  with  astonish- 
ment. He  caught  Lady  Melton's  eye.  She  al- 
most imperceptibly  shook  her  head.  As  they 
watched,  Miss  Endicott  came  to  herself  with  a 
start.  When  her  bewildered  face  met  Lady  Mel- 
ton's there  was  a  frightened,  hunted  look  upon  it. 

A  peal  of  laughter  swept  down  from  the  group 
where  Betty  Gary  and  Aveling  carried  on  a  lively 
skirmish  of  wits  that  held  the  attention  of  the 
whole  company.  Miss  Endicott  moved  quietly  to 
Lady  Melton's  side.  "  You  don't  suppose  he  saw 
me,"  she  said,  in  low,,  hurried  tones.  Lady  Mel- 
ton glanced-  at  Aveling. 

"  No,  he  didn't  hear.  Betty  is  holding  his  at- 
tention," she  said. 

"  I  never  dreamed  it  could  be  so  awful."  Miss 
Endicott  shivered  as  she  spoke.  Her  face  grew 


138  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

paler.  "  Surely  it  is  not  right  to  leave  Aline 
here,"  she  said,  in  imploring  tones. 

"  We  cannot  persuade  him  to  leave  now.  You 
know,  when  they  took  him  to  Nice,  he  escaped  and 
returned  alone." 

Kent's  alert  attention  became  tense.  Then 
Aveling  did  not  tell  him  the  truth.  He  had  been 
out  of  England.  Had  he  forgotten?  There  was 
an  expression  of  despair  on  Miss  Endicott's  face 
when  Kent's  gaze  returned  to  it.  "  Is  there  noth- 
ing we  can  do?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing — but  wait,"  said  Lady  Melton 
sadly.  Her  dark  eyes  travelled  off  to  uncon- 
scious Aveling. 

Kent  studied  her  closely.  She  was  looking  very 
beautiful  to-day  in  her  gown  of  creamy  white, 
touched  here  and  there  with  falls  of  delicate  lace. 
Her  expression  changed.  Aveling  was  ap- 
proaching. 

"  Come,  Lady  Melton,  you  must  give  up  your 
booty.  We  are  Americans  and  frown  upon  the 
idea  of  privilege  and  monopoly."  Aveling's  face 
was  alight.  He  was  in  a  bantering  mood.  The 
whole  company  listened  in  silent  amusement. 

Lady  Melton  put  her  head  to  one  side  and  laid 
her  hands  together  upon  her  lap.  "  My  booty  ? 
What  part  of  my  possessions  do  you  covet,  Sir 
Highwayman  ?  " 

"  What  part?    How  can  you  pretend "   He 


A  KEY  139 

finished  with  a  graceful  bow  to  Betty  and  Miss 
Endicott. 

"  I  vow  you  speak  in  riddles,"  she  said. 

"  Very  well,  since  you  force  me  to  such  unnatu- 
ral plainness,"  he  made  answer,  with  mock  trag- 
edy. "  I  make  a  formal  demand  for  the  two 
charming  persons  upon  whom  you  have  laid 
felonious  hands." 

A  startled  look  came  out  upon  the  faces  Kent 
was  watching.  Lady  Melton's  cool  composure 
held. 

"  And  by  what  right,  good  sir?  " 

"  By  the  immortal  right  of  the  Stars  and 
Stripes,  which  stand  for  liberty  and  equality"  he 
said,  with  sharp  emphasis. 

"  And  the  Union  Jack  stands  for  the  defence 
of  rights  and  home"  She  bent  an  inscrutable 
look  upon  Aveling  and  rose  in  the  attitude  of  a 
challenging  muse.  "  But  come,  I  will  make  ex- 
change. What  do  you  offer  for  my  prize?" 

Aveling's  recklessness  was  instantly  checked  by 
a  note  of  deep  meaning  in  her  voice  and  manner. 

"What  will  you  take?"  came  the  Yankee's 
answer. 

"  I  will  make  a  fair  exchange.  Give  me  Mr. 
Kent,  and  you  may  have  my  young  ladies." 

Her  words  crashed  like  a  thunderbolt  through 
the  silent  group.  Lady  Melton  still  held  her  at- 
titude of  mock  challenge.  Over  her  face  played 


140  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

a  carefully  maintained  assumption  of  gayety. 
Aveling  recoiled  a  step;  he  had  grown  pale.  He 
made  a  deprecating  motion  with  his  hands. 

"  What  would  you  ?  If  I  surrender  the  only 
attraction  I  have,  how  could  I  induce  the  young 
ladies  to  come  ?  "  he  said  quietly. 

"  Exactly.  And  how  can  I  attract  the  means 
to  beguile  my  solitude,  if  you  take  my  snares 
away? " 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead  silence.  Then 
Lord  Melton  led  a  storm  of  applause.  "  Come, 
Mr.  Aveling.  You  were  beaten  in  fair  fight." 

Aveling  made  a  deep  obeisance.  "  I  surrender 
to  your  ladyship." 

A  servant  carrying  a  tray  came  in,  followed 
closely  by  the  little  girl  whose  name  was  Mariola. 
She  looked  alarmed  at  the  size  of  the  company 
and  shrank  back.  Aveling  sprang  up  with  a  look 
of  relief  and  went  to  meet  her.  "  I  had  the  ber- 
ries you  sent  me,  dear.  Did  you  gather  them 
for  me?  "  he  asked,  bending  his  tall  form  over 
her. 

She  shyly  lifted  her  face.  "  Yes,  sir, — if  you 
please,  sir." 

Aveling  led  her  to  a  seat,  with  the  deferential 
gentleness  he  might  pay  a  queen.  Somehow  it 
had  the  grotesque  significance  of  a  man  endeav- 
oring to  pay  a  debt,  as  Aveling  gave  her  his  at- 
tention and  plied  her  with  sweetmeats. 


A  KEY  14.1 

Kent  closely  watched  Aveling's  interest  in  the 
child.  Betty  Gary  had  taken  Mariola  in  her 
arms,  and  she  and  Aveling  by  turns  were  telling 
fairy-tales  for  her  amusement.  The  great,  tawny 
eyes  devoured  first  one  face  and  then  the  other. 
Lady  Melton  stood  a  little  apart  watching  the 
group,  her  regard  resting  often,  with  the  keen- 
est interest,  upon  the  child's  face.  Kent  stepped 
to  her  side. 

"  One  seldom  sees  so  beautiful  a  face,"  he 
remarked. 

"  Very  seldom,"  she  returned,  with  nice  pre- 
cision. 

"  It  is  not  an  English  face?  " 

"  No."  She  seemed  to  reflect.  "  Did  you  ever 
see  a  face  that  resembled  hers  ?  " 

"  If  I  have  not,  I  have  at  least  dreamed  of 
one." 

Lady  Melton  was  silent. 

"  I  have  not  yet  found  out  who  she  is.  Do  you 
happen  to  know?  "  he  enquired. 

"  She  is  the  daughter — the  only  child — of  one 
of  the  villagers." 

"  And  her  mother  lies  in  the  cemetery,"  fin- 
ished Kent. 

Lady  Melton  turned  a  somewhat  startled  face 
upon  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  made  a  rather  unexpected  visit  to  her  grave 


142  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

in  Avtling's  company  on  one  or  two  occa- 
sions." 

Lady  Melton  regarded  the  child. 

"  She  looks  as  if  she  might  be  an  Italian,"  ven- 
tured Kent. 

"  She  is  of  Italian  descent." 

Kent  studied  his  distinguished  neighbor.  What 
answer  would  she  give  the  deep  question  that 
lurked  behind  his  lips  ?  "  Why,  Lady  Melton, 
does  my  friend,  Aveling,  who  has  no  known  con- 
nection with  this  child  or  her  ancestors — why  does 
he  feel  so  keen  an  interest  in  her?  " 

Lady  Melton's  frank  gaze  met  his.  "  That, 
Mr.  Kent,  is  what  we  all  would  like  to  know." 

Here  Mariola  was  seen  to  anxiously  address 
Aveling.  "  Please,  Mr.  Aveling,  is  it  half  an 
hour?" 

"Since  you  came?    Yes,  I  suppose  it  is." 

She  immediately  slipped  from  her  seat.  "  Then 
I  must  go  home.  Grandmother  said  I  should  stay 
only  half  an  hour." 

"  Oh,  your  grandmother  won't  mind  if  you  stay 
a  little  longer,"  said  Aveling,  with  humorous  in- 
dulgence. 

"  But  my  father  would,"  gravely  said  the  child. 
"  He  doesn't  like  it  when  I  come  to  Roxmoor." 

Aveling  shrank  a  little.  "  Very  well,"  he  said 
briefly,  moving  as  if  to  go  with  her. 

Mrs.  Aveling  cast  a  perplexed  look  upon  the 


A  KEY  143 

company,  and  then  at  Kent,  who  spoke  at 
once: 

"  You  needn't  take  her,  Ned.  I'll  see  her  safely 
home." 

"  I  intend  to  take  her  home  myself,"  he  said 
with  cutting  emphasis,  adding  in  a  lower  tone, 
"  It  is  more  fitting." 

He  seemed  unconscious  of  the  anxiety  in  Mrs. 
Aveling's  face.  His  eyes  were  on  the  child;  his 
own  expression  shifting  in  response  to  some  in- 
ward stirring.  But  only  Kent  heard  the  low- 
spoken  words  that  came  as  if  Aveling  were  but 
the  mouthpiece  of  another  man :  "  Guard  her  like 
your  heart's  blood.  She  is  the  key !  " 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  I   MUST    GIVE GIVE  !  " 

THE  next  morning  Kent  left  Aveling  safely  im- 
mersed in  business  with  his  agent  and  set  off  alone 
for  the  cemetery.  He  was  feeling  the  inspiration 
of  fresh  hope  concerning  that  odd  name,  Mariola. 
Aveling's  half-whispered  words  about  the  child, 
"  She  is  the  key,"  confirmed  Kent's  belief.  If  he 
could  fathom  Ned's  odd  connection  with  her  and 
learn  what  it  meant  to  him,  he  felt  the  first  step 
would  be  taken.  He  hurried  on  his  way.  Just 
as  he  passed  inside  the  gates,  clouds  crossed  the 
sun,  and,  when  he  stood  beside  the  grave,  there 
was  only  the  dull  light  of  former  visits. 

The  grave  lay  in  its  humble  silence ;  a  bunch 
of  simple  cottage  flowers  lay  withering  in  the 
coarse  grass.  It  was  in  its  humility  as  far  re- 
moved from  Roxmoor's  splendor  as  a  thing  could 
be.  And  yet  Kent  believed  that  it  was  a  part  of 
that  vital  past  that  still  lived  there.  The  head- 
stone that  marked  the  grave  was  curiously 
streaked  and  mottled.  Kent  stooped  down  and 
read  the  rest  of  the  inscription, — "  wife  of  Michel 
144 


« I  MUST  GIVE—-GIVE ! "  145 

Barotti," — the  date  of  birth  and  death,  and  that 
was  all.  He  turned  away,  baffled. 

With  a  start  he  faced  Mariola  and  a  tall,  ath- 
letic man  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  laborer,  yet 
with  a  countenance  that  showed  the  marks  of  a 
culture  not  belonging  to  his  station.  As  they 
met,  Kent  saw  he  flushed  angrily  and  drew  Mariola 
to  one  side,  with  a  cold  and  distant  indication 
that  they  waited  for  him  to  pass.  Confused  by  a 
feeling  that  he  had  been  caught  doing  something 
wrong,  Kent  moved  away,  bowing  involuntarily. 
At  a  little  distance,  from  the  shelter  of  a  screen 
of  trees,  he  saw  them  at  the  grave.  They  were 
replacing  the  faded  flowers  with  some  fresh  ones. 

After  a  few  moments  Kent  started  for  the  gate, 
but  hastily  withdrew  again  into  the  shelter  of 
the  trees.  Aveling  was  approaching.  He  looked 
thoughtful  and  sad.  A  deep-drawn  sigh  escaped 
him  as  he  passed  Kent.  A  moment  later  he  was 
bowing  almost  with  humility  to  the  man  with 
Mariola.  The  child  alternately  smiled  at  and 
shrank  from  Aveling.  The  man  spoke. 

"  The  poor  live  always  in  the  eye  of  the  public," 
he  said  bitterly.  "  Not  even  our  griefs  are 
sacred." 

Aveling  received  the  scornful  words  unmoved. 

"  I  offer  you  an  apology.  I  had  no  intention 
of  intruding,"  he  said,  with  gentle  dignity.  "  You 
are  Mariola's  father?  " 


146  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

The  man  bowed  with  a  haughty  grace  that  made 
Kent  stare.  How  came  a  peasant  to  have  the 
manner  of  a  nobleman? 

"  I  am  also  Mariola's  husband,"  he  said,  point- 
ing to  the  grave.  "  But  I  will  wait  aside  until 
you  have  finished  your  inspection.  Grief  can  wait 
upon  the  curiosity  of  the  great." 

A  withering  hate,  which  had  been  suppressed 
with  difficulty,  flamed  over  the  man.  He  raised 
himself  with  an  imperious  lift  of  his  giant  frame 
that  caused  his  stature  visibly  to  rise.  This  was 
not  the  manner  of  a  peasant  to  his  lord,  but,  to 
Kent's  amazement,  Aveling  did  not  resent  his 
ironic  words.  He  spoke  gently.  '*  I  did  not  come 
to  disturb  you,"  he  said. 

"  What,  then,  did  you  come  for?  "  demanded 
the  man,  his  strange  passion  increasing  at  Avel- 
ing's  evident  friendliness. 

Aveling  winced.  A  painful  flush  spread  over 
his  features.  "  I  was — was  just  strolling  about," 
he  said  lamely. 

"  So  it  would  appear.  When  your  stroll  is 
ended,  we  may  again  have  our  dead,  I  suppose?  " 

Aveling's  face  was  red  and  working.  With  a 
stammered  word  or  two  he  turned  away  and  feebly 
set  off  in  the  direction  of  the  gate. 

Kent  waited  for  a  while,  not  daring  to  follow 
home  too  closely.  The  two  figures  again  worked 
quietly  at  the  grave.  Mariola  stole  an  occasional, 


«I  MUST  GIVE— GIVE!"  147 

troubled  look  at  her  father,  who  spoke  to  her 
from  time  to  time  with  the  gentlest  words. 

On  his  homeward  walk  Kent  vainly  puzzled  over 
the  animosity  of  the  man  and  could  think  of  no 
reason  why  Aveling's  presence  should  rouse  such 
anger.  Nor  did  he  receive  any  help  from  Avel- 
ing,  who  was  in  a  mood  of  quiet  melancholy 
when  they  met,  and  made  no  mention  of  the 
encounter. 

The  day  passed  quietly  away.  Aveling  was 
apparently  wrapped  in  thought;  and  Kent,  read- 
ing to  beguile  the  time,  became  immersed  in  his 
story.  He  was  suddenly  roused  by  Mrs.  Aveling's 
hasty  entrance. 

"  Where's  Ned  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

Kent  had  not  noticed  his  silent  disappearance. 
He  looked  up  blankly,  wondering  what  he  should 
say  to  quiet  Mrs.  Aveling's  alarm. 

At  that  moment  he  saw  Aveling  steal  past  the 
window,  with  the  silent  ease  he  of  late  put  into 
his  motions.  Kent  leisurely  rose  and  took  up  his 
hat.  "  Ned  is  just  outside,"  he  said  pleasantly. 
"  We  are  going  for  a  walk." 

Mrs.  Aveling  looked  relieved.  She  was  deathly 
pale  to-day.  Kent  sauntered  lazily  out,  only  to 
fall  into  a  quick  run  when  the  door  concealed  him. 
Once  outside  he  cast  a  swift  glance  about.  Avel- 
ing was  nowhere  in  sight. 

Kent  came  down  the  steps  and  halted  in  the 


148  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

shelter  of  a  clump  of  fir-trees.  There  was  not  a 
thing  in  the  orderly  paths,  that  stretched  away 
in  every  direction,  to  indicate  which  one  Aveling 
had  taken.  From  the  direction  in  which  he  was 
going  when  he  passed  the  window,  it  was  fair  to 
assume  that  he  had  the  cemetery  again  in  mind. 
Kent  left  the  trees  and  swung  into  the  nearest 
path  that  led  there. 

There  was  no  sign  of  Aveling  near  the  grave 
when  Kent  reached  it,  nothing  but  a  cluster  of 
exquisite  roses  lying  on  it.  He  had  not  been 
able  to  see  more  than  Aveling's  head  as  he  passed 
the  window;  but  no  other  person  could  have  put 
the  roses  there.  He  noticed  that  the  flowers  which 
Mariola  and  her  father  brought  lay  near  the  head 
of  the  grave,  while  the  costly  roses  lay  at  the  foot. 

Kent's  anxiety  as  to  Aveling's  whereabouts  be- 
came more  pressing.  He  glanced  ahead.  A  broad 
walk  stretched  onward  to  a  thick  glade  of  trees 
descending  a  gentle  slope.  There  was  a  glimmer 
of  water  through  the  foliage.  A  single  footprint 
in  a  loose  spot  of  earth  looked  fresh,  as  if  some 
one  had  recently  passed  that  way.  Kent  started 
down  the  path. 

A  half-smothered  cry  of  rage  cut  through  the 
stillness.  Kent  turned  quickly  about.  Mariola's 
father  was  stooping  over  the  grave.  A  moment 
later  he  had  risen  with  the  roses  in  his  hand.  With 
a  backward  swing  of  his  lithe  form,  as  sinuous  as 


"  I  MUST  GIVE— GIVE !  "  149 

a  serpent,  he  hurled  Aveling's  gift  into  a  nearby 
thicket.  Kent  proceeded  down  the  path. 

The  growth  of  trees  thickened.  It  was  per- 
vaded by  a  woody  smell,  which  rose  from  the 
rank  underbrush  and  spots  of  earth  which  here 
and  there  lay  bare.  The  path  apparently  ran 
near  a  stream.  Kent  could  hear  the  running  wa- 
ter and  now  and  then  catch  the  sparkle  of  its 
surface.  He  came  out  abruptly  upon  a  high, 
shelving  bank.  Upon  its  brink,  looking  quietly 
down  at  the  swirling  water,  which  here  looked 
black  and  deep,  stood  Aveling.  His  hands  were 
clasped  behind  his  back,  his  head  bent  down.  His 
black-clad  form,  projected  clear  against  the  light, 
looked  more  lean  and  spare  than  ever.  He  seemed 
lost  in  reverie. 

"  Well, — I  have  had  a  chase  for  you,"  said 
Kent.  "  I  saw  you  pass  the  window  and  started 
out  to  join  you  for  a  walk.  I  brought  up  here 
in  sheer  desperation." 

Aveling  stood  quite  still.  He  had  not  stirred, 
except  to  turn  a  fixed  and  penetrating  gaze  on 
Kent,  and  then  he  again  faced  the  water.  "  It 
seems  quiet  and  restful  here,"  he  said. 

Kent  did  not  speak. 

Aveling  drew  a  long  sigh.  "  I  have  a  fancy 
when  I  come  here,"  he  said  dreamily.  "  It  looks 
so  smooth,  like  a  soft  bed,  where  one  might  find 
a  sleep  that  should  truly  rest." 


150  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Some  magnetic  influence  from  the  music  of  the 
water,  or  perhaps  its  onward,  gliding  motion, 
swayed  his  always  sensitive  volition.  Kent's 
sturdy,  masculine  sense  closed  about  his  mood. 

"  Is  the  fishing  good  ?  "  he  asked. 

Aveling  stirred.  "  Fishing?  "  he  said  vaguely. 

"  I'm  sure Fishing,  did  you  say  ?  Oh !  I 

never  fish  here.  No,  we  never  fish  here."  He 
turned  away  from  the  stream  and  groped  help- 
lessly about. 

"  Let's  go  home,  Kent,"  he  said  wearily.  "  I'm 
tired;"  and  he  led  the  way  without  further 
parley. 

The  path  ran  beside  the  grave,  where  Aveling 
came  to  a  sudden  halt,  looking  anxiously  over  it. 

"  Why — why — they're  gone !  "  he  said,  going 
nearer  and  looking  up  and  down. 

"What's  the  matter,  Aveling?"  Kent  called 
out. 

"  It's  the  funniest  thing.  I  put  some  roses 
there  awhile  ago  and  they  are  gone."  He  looked 
up  at  Kent,  his  eyes  were  bright  and  startled. 

"  Perhaps  some  one  stole  them,"  suggested 
Kent. 

Aveling  looked  relieved.  "  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 
he  said  anxiously.  "  I  thought  the  poor  beggar 
wouldn't  even  let  me  put  flowers  on  her  grave.  I 

like  to "  He  began  to  speak  confusedly. 

Kent  could  get  no  meaning  out  of  the  disjointed 


"I  MUST  GIVE— GIVE!"  151 

phrases.  He  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  Aveling's 
arm. 

"  Why  do  you  put  flowers  on  that  grave  ?  "  he 
asked  imperiously. 

"  Because,  Kent,  don't  you  see  I  must, — I 
must."  The  last  word  became  a  helpless  wail. 
Kent  kept  a  piercing  gaze  upon  the  face  that 
wavered  before  him.  He  saw,  as  through  a  veil, 
the  struggling  of  a  purpose  which  Aveling  could 
feel  but  never  master. 

Aveling  looked  down  at  the  place  where  the 
roses  had  lain,  sighing  heavily.  "  Well,  they  are 
gone."  He  moved  away,  and  Kent  followed. 
With  a  quick  glance  Kent  put  in  one  more  stroke : 

"  Does  Mariola  look  like  her  mother?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  never  saw  the  woman."  He 
hesitated,  adding  in  a  lower  tone,  "  She  died  two 
months  before  the  late  owner  of  Roxmoor." 

Nearly  three  months  before  Aveling  knew  he 
was  to  succeed,  and  yet  he  put  flowers  upon  this 
unknown  woman's  grave !  Kent  stepped  forward 
to  bar  Aveling's  pathway.  If  he  could  force  a 
little  coherent  thought,  it  might  help  to  disen- 
tangle the  motive  which  lay  concealed  in  Aveling's 
queer  attentions.  He  fixed  a  keen,  compelling 
gaze  upon  the  wavering  face: 

"  Think,  man,  think !  Why  did  you  put  those 
flowers  there?  and  why  did  Mariola's  present  give 
you  pain?  Think, — for  your  very  life!  " 


152  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Aveling  began  to  speak  slow,  halting  words, 
as  if  something  buried  in  the  inscrutable  deeps 
of  being  was  coming  painfully  into  the  circle  of 
his  conscious  powers. 

"  I  must  .not  take  from  them,"  he  gasped.  "  I 
must  give — give !  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   DOOM   OF    KOXMOOR 

KENT  retired  early  that  night,  feeling  worn  and 
spent,  but  in  a  hopeful  mood,  in  spite  of  the 
gloomy  and  anxious  evening.  Aveling,  upon  their 
return  to  the  house,  sank  into  a  state  of  semi- 
oblivion,  muttering  the  pressure  of  thought  lying 
on  him,  "  Give — give !  "  He  remained  quite  tract- 
able, and  was  easily  persuaded  to  retire,  and  Kent 
followed  at  once. 

Kent  started  suddenly  from  profound  slumber 
into  the  acutest  consciousness.  He  could  not  tell 
the  hour,  but  knew  it  must  be  midway  of  the  night. 
The  sleep-bound  house  was  locked  in  a  silence  that 
was  almost  audible.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had 
been  wakened  by  a  sharp  rapping  at  the  door. 
The  sounds  of  moans  and  groans  still  rang  in  his 
ear.  As  he  listened,  the  rapping  and  moans  com- 
menced again.  The  giant  fir-tree  outside  his  win- 
dow was  tapping  on  the  glass.  The  branches 
sighed  as  they  swayed  against  each  other  and  the 
walls  of  the  house. 

He  tried  to  go  asleep  again,  but  his  conscious- 
ness seemed  like  a  tight-strung  harp.  It  quivered 

153 


154  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

at  every  gust  of  wind  and  snapping  branch.  He 
got  up  at  last  and  made  a  light,  looking  down  into 
the  flame  as  if  uncertain  what  next  to  do.  A 
travelling-rug  lay  over  his  easy-chair.  He  put  it 
about  him,  and,  taking  up  a  magazine  that  lay  on 
the  table,  began  to  examine  its  pages.  He  had  a 
disagreeable  sense  of  waiting  for  something.  Now 
and  then  he  raised  his  head  and  listened.  The 
silence  of  the  house  remained  unbroken. 

After  an  interval  there  came  a  sound,  as  if  the 
garment  of  a  passing  form  had  brushed  against 
the  door.  He  rose  quickly  and  threw  it  open. 
The  hall  was  still  and  empty.  A  dim  light  cast 
fantastic  shadows.  He  stepped  out  and  peered 
around.  Nothing  stirred.  After  a  moment's 
scrutiny  he  returned  to  his  room,  but  he  did  not 
sit  down.  Instead,  he  went  to  his  dressing-room, 
and  presently  emerged  fully  dressed. 

He  sat  down  in  the  easy-chair.  His  face  was 
tense  and  drawn.  There  had  something  come  to 
him,  born  of  the  hour  and  place,  which  confirmed 
Bateson's  words  and  Dr.  Warren's  solemn  warn- 
ing. Was  he  to  pay  the  price  of  interference, 
here, — alone,  at  midnight? 

He  heard  again  the  brushing  of  that  mysterious 
garment  against  the  door.  His  eyes  turned  irre- 
sistibly toward  it.  He  clutched  the  arms  of  his 
chair  and  began  to  argue  with  himself.  He  had 
been  in  the  hall,  and  it  was  deserted;  it  was  use- 


THE  DOOM  OF  ROXMOOR          155 

less  to  go  again.  And  yet,  like  invisible  fingers, 
that  compulsion  tore  at  him.  A  dreadful  fear 
stole  through  him  as  he  battled, — a  terrifying  sense 
of  loss,  as  if  the  Self  were  sinking  into  abysmal 
deeps.  He  rose  unsteadily,  and  wavering  steps  led 
him  to  the  door.  He  caught  up  a  candle,  by  the 
power  of  the  last  faint  impulse  of  his  dying  self- 
control,  and  passed  into  the  hall.  A  shadow 
seemed  to  move  before  him. 

Kent  lost  all  volition  as  he  blindly  followed  that 
ghostly  leading.  A  few  lights  burned  dimly 
everywhere.  All  about  him  he  felt  the  pressure 
of  a  guiding  that  let  him  move  but  in  one  way. 
In  this  manner  he  traversed  several  corridors, 
turning  and  doubling  with  no  sense  of  where  he 
was  going,  until  he  entered  a  hall  which  he  recog- 
nized as  being  a  part  of  the  Italian  Wing.  He 
slowed  his  steps  and  came  to  a  halt,  as  he  felt 
a  lowering  of  the  impulse  which  had  led  him. 
Through  the  dim  light,  he  just  perceived  a  door- 
way that  opened  in  one  of  the  darkened  walls,  and 
seemed  to  invite  him,  as  he  approached.  He 
stepped  within,  and  found  himself  in  the  picture- 
gallery  ! 

He  looked  about  the  room,  bewildered.  Half- 
way down  its  gloomy  length,  a  dull  cloud  of  red 
light  glowed  like  a  dim  mist.  He  could  just 
faintly  discern  the  frames  of  pictures  that  crowded 
the  wall.  He  pressed  silently  forward.  As  he 


156  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

neared  the  cloud  of  dull  light,  a  single  ray  shone 
brightly  from  its  centre,  like  a  tiny  star.  Curious 
to  know  what  it  was,  he  advanced  within  the  circle 
of  light.  A  sudden  sense  of  a  human  presence  came 
upon  him.  He  looked  helplessly  at  the  tiny  lamp, 
such  as  the  devout  place  before  a  shrine.  It  burned 
within  a  niche  let  into  the  wall  beneath  a  pic- 
ture,— its  hiding-place  so  small,  its  flame  so  feeble 
that,  in  the  daylight,  only  the  sharpest  eye  might 
see  it.  Kent  raised  his  candle,  and  scanned  the 
picture  that  hung  above  the  niche.  The  Templar 
eyed  him  in  his  melancholy  splendor. 

Unconsciously,  Kent  stepped  backward.  The 
candle-flame  threw  a  lurid  light  across  the  can- 
vas. Everything  around  the  figure  vanished.  The 
stately  form  took  on  the  look  of  solid  clay.  Kent, 
still  trembling  under  the  vivid  sense  of  that  elusive 
human  presence  which  led  him  here,  dumbly  asked 
for  the  torturing  secret  of  it.  The  anguished  face 
glared  into  his.  The  racked  soul  showed  its  wound, 
but  the  secret,  so  clearly  burdening  him,  kept 
within  the  shadows. 

Kent  felt  a  lessening  of  the  strain  upon  him. 
The  inscrutable  presence  slowly  receded.  With  a 
feeling  of  desperation,  Kent  darted  forward.  He 
was  so  near — he  could  not  lose  the  chance  that 
might  clear  Aveling's  burdened  life. 

"  What  is  your  guilty  secret,  you  hound  of 
hell?  " 


THE  DOOM  OF  ROXMOOR          157 

He  stood  glaring  madly  at  the  dreadful  face. 
A  moment  later,  he  staggered  back.  A  deadly 
clutch,  like  a  pair  of  iron  hands,  gripped  his 
throat.  As  he  writhed  within  that  horrible  grasp, 
he  stepped  outside  the  circle  of  light, — and  the 
hands  were  gone. 

Pale  and  shaken,  he  stood  gasping  for  breath, 
the  sweat  running  from  every  pore.  The  light 
still  burned.  The  picture  hung  in  its  melancholy 
silence.  Unable  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  it,  Kent 
went  forward,  and  set  his  foot  within  that  magic 
circle.  A  weird  consciousness  of  a  double  self  fell 
upon  him.  Long  fingers  reached  out  toward  him, 
the  figure  within  the  frame  seemed  to  bend  for- 
ward. Kent  withdrew,  and  silence  and  oblivion 
fell  again.  But  he  felt  a  kind  of  moral  lassitude, 
as  if  he  could  not  resist  outer  persuasion,  and 
insensibly  approached  the  circle  of  light.  Just  on 
the  edge,  a  swift  intuition  came  to  him,  and  lay- 
ing a  rude  grip  upon  his  diminished  self-command, 
he  turned  and  stumbled  out  of  the  gallery,  putting 
his  hand  upon  the  door  to  pull  it  shut.  It  resisted 
his  efforts.  He  put  both  hands  upon  it,  and  exert- 
ing all  his  strength,  drew  it  shut  with  a  crash, 
just  in  time  to  see  Aveling  coming  down  the  cor- 
ridor. Kent  stepped  back,  with  a  feeling  of  grati- 
tude that  he  had  prevented  Aveling's  entrance  to 
the  gallery  when  such  terrible  powers  were  abroad. 

Aveling  seemed  to  be  asleep.    He  walked  straight 


158  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

to  the  gallery  door,  and  when  he  found  it  closed, 
seemed  bewildered,  fumbling  aimlessly  at  the  heavy 
wooden  panels.  Gradually,  the  power  of  motion 
left  him.  He  dropped  upon  the  floor,  and  sank 
into  profound  slumber.  Mrs.  Aveling  hurried  for- 
ward, and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  him,  caressing 
his  face,  and  calling  his  name. 

"  What  is  wrong?  "  asked  Kent,  dismayed  by 
her  wild  grief. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  wailed,  bent  weeping  over 
the  prostrate  figure.  "  Perhaps  you  have  killed 
him!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

CHALLENGED 

WHEN  the  vertical  rays  of  noon  wiped  out  the 
shadows  the  next  day,  Aveling  was  still  asleep. 
He  lay  in  exactly  the  same  position  where  they 
placed  him,  his  face  wore  a  purple  flush.  He 
breathed  in  deep,  steady  pulls.  Dr.  Warren  was 
on  duty,  having  been  summoned  in  the  night.  In 
another  room,  Lady  Melton  and  Mary  Endicott 
worked  over  prostrate  Mrs.  Aveling.  She  had  col- 
lapsed and  did  not  move,  except  on  occasion  to 
wearily  whisper,  "  Ned, — my  Ned !  " 

Betty  wept  alone  in  another  room,  her  child's 
soul  shrinking  at  the  awful  alarms  printed  on 
every  face,  her  loyal  heart  binding  her  to  the 
the  place  where  her  friend  sorrowed.  "  Do  you 
think  he  will  die  ?  "  she  asked  Lady  Melton. 

"  Oh,  Betty  dear,  he  had  better  go  now,  before 
he  kills  her  too." 

"  But  why,  why  must  he  die?  "  whispered  Betty. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  they  all  do.  It's  only  sooner 
or  later,"  she  said  wearily.  "  Here  comes  Mr. 
Kent.  Well?" 

"  He  is  just  the  same.  How  is  Mrs.  Aveling?  " 
159 


160  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  She  will  be  no  better  until  we  take  her  some 
good  news." 

Kent's  face  saddened  as  she  spoke.  "  Lady  Mel- 
ton, can  you  not  persuade  her  to  leave  him  for  a 
while?  It  will  otherwise  surely  kill  her." 

She  gently  shook  her  head.  "  Perhaps  we  can 
a  little  later,  when  we  can  convince  her  it  is  for 
his  good.  For  the  present  it  would  be  like  tear- 
ing her  heart  from  her  living  body.  He  will  soon 
become  violent  and  maniacal.  It  may  then  be  pos- 
sible." 

Kent  felt  stifled.  He  was  relieved  of  duty  in 
the  sick-room  for  the  present,  and  he  went  out  to 
the  terrace  for  a  little  fresh  air.  Mrs.  Aveling's 
words  were  weighing  heavily  upon  him.  If  he  had 
only  left  that  infernal  door  to  the  gallery  open! 
He  did  not  yet  know  fully  what  his  act  meant; 
for,  in  the  anxious  hours  that  followed,  there  had 
been  little  time  to  dwell  upon  it.  He  knew  it 
was,  so  far  as  any  mortal  knows,  the  closed  door 
which  produced  the  shock,  followed  by  the  alarm- 
ing coma.  But  what  chiefly  occupied  his  thoughts 
was  Aveling's  venture  into  that  deadly  place. 
Why  should  he  have  risen  at  midnight  to  make 
that  mysterious  visit  to  the  gallery?  The  final  out- 
come of  it  all  must  rest  somewhat  on  that. 

As  Kent  emerged  from  the  house,  he  saw  Dr. 
Warren  standing  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 


CHALLENGED  161 

looking  out  across  the  valley.  He  bowed  gravely 
to  Kent. 

"  Fall  seems  to  be  coming  early,"  he  said  with 
formal  courtesy. 

"  Yes — the  first  of  November  will  soon  be  here," 
said  Kent  sharply.  The  doctor  maintained  his 
grave  manner. 

"  The  natural  season  of  death,"  he  said,  with  a 
distant  air. 

"  But  suppose  a  man  should  not  want  to  die 
before  his  time,"  Kent  returned  meaningly. 

"  Nature  has  a  way  of  not  attending  to  the 
wishes  of  her  victims,"  said  Dr.  Warren,  in  a  tone 
of  great  reserve. 

"  The  wise  man,  then,  lives  merrily, — and  dies 
when  he  must,"  said  Kent. 

"  The  wise  man  does  not  evade  the  laws  of  life, 
as  they  present  themselves  to  mortal  view." 

A  servant  summoned  Dr.  Warren  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  Kent  was  left  to  pace  the  terrace  alone. 

"  So — he  thinks  Aveling  to  be  in  the  grip  of 
natural  powers  which  idiots  shouldn't  meddle 
with.  Now,  why  couldn't  he  say  that  in  plain 
language?  Confound  these  English,  anyway! 
They  make  a  man  talk  like  a  cuneiform  inscrip- 
tion." 

Since  the  day  when  Kent  first  talked  to  him,  the 
old  doctor  had  shown  some  shyness  of  the  subject. 


162  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent's  imaginative  handling  of  Aveling's  case  he 
could  not  follow,  and,  apparently,  after  the  first 
involuntary  burst  of  wonder,  did  not  try.  It  was 
plain,  now,  that  he  had  not  been  carried  beyond  his 
own  staid  governance.  Kent  took  his  dry  speeches 
to  mean  that  he  had  seen  little  to  confirm  wild 
theories,  and  that  he  wished  to  emphasize  his 
friendly  warning. 

Kent  paced  solitary  up  and  down  the  brick- 
paved  terrace,  turning  into  the  house  at  last,  to  go 
to  his  room.  Dr.  Warren,  with  a  disturbed  and 
anxious  face,  met  him  at  the  door.  "  I  was  just 
coming  for  you.  Mr.  Aveling's  condition  is 
rapidly  changing.  I  may  have  need  of  you." 

He  motioned  Kent  to  follow  him  to  the  sick 
man's  room. 

"  Is  his  condition  growing  worse  ?  "  enquired 
Kent. 

"  Alas,  I  cannot  tell ;"  the  doctor's  anxiety  was 
mingled  with  an  uncertainty  about  his  hold  upon 
the  case  that  arrested  Kent's  attention. 

"  There  are  elements  in  it  that  escape  the  usual 
medical  diagnosis  ?  "  pursued  Kent. 

Dr.  Warren  gave  a  brief  assent. 

Kent  thought  a  moment.  His  next  question 
evoked  the  doctor's  most  professional  manner. 
"  WTiat  would  Mr.  Aveling's  chances  be  if 
this  were  an  ordinary  case,  without — complica- 
tions?" 


CHALLENGED  163 

"  I  should  say  he  would  be  a  dead  man  within 
twenty-four  hours." 

They  walked  the  rest  of  the  way  in  silence. 
Outside  the  hallway  that  led  to  Aveling's  room 
Dr.  Warren  paused.  "  This  is  a  case  requiring 
more  than  medical  skill.  You  possess  an  influence 
over  the  unhappy  patient  which  may  save  his  life 
when  the  crisis  comes.  Prepare  your  mind  and 
nerves  for  a  severe  strain." 

"  There  will  be  a  crisis,  then  ?  " 

"  There  always  has  been."  After  a  moment, 
during  which  Kent  remained  silent,  the  doctor  led 
the  way  into  the  room  where  Aveling  lay. 

Dr.  Warren  advanced  to  the  bedside.  Aveling 
was  still  asleep,  but  the  purple  flush  was  gone. 
He  breathed  easily  and  regularly,  a  slight  moist- 
ure was  visible  on  his  forehead.  The  doctor  laid 
a  finger  on  his  pulse.  A  moment  later  he  motioned 
Kent  to  follow  him  out  of  the  room.  His  face 
wore  a  look  of  utter  astonishment.  Kent  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"  Ten  minutes  ago  I  left  him  on  the  verge  of 
the  usual  crisis.  It  comes  in  the  form  of  demoni- 
acal possession,  and  here  he  sleeps  like  an  infant, — 
like  an  infant,"  he  repeated  the  words  in  utter  per- 
plexity. "  One  can  make  nothing  of  it." 

"  The  danger  is  past?  "  asked  Kent. 

"  Apparently  he  has  skipped  one  stage  of  these 
attacks.  He  will  sleep  a  while,  and  then  wake, 


164  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

sane  and  quiet."  He  bent  his  head  in  thought, 
looking  strangely  disturbed.  "  Go  and  have  some 
luncheon,  and  then  return.  I  want  yours  to  be  the 
first  face  he  sees  when  he  wakens." 

Kent  was  struck  by  Dr.  Warren's  expression. 
A  sense  of  shifting  values  showed  plainly  in  the 
old,  weather-beaten  face. 

"  Why  do  you  want  him  to  see  me  first?  "  Kent 
asked. 

There  was  just  a  perceptible  pause.  "  Mr. 
Kent,  I  begin  to  hope  that  Mr.  Aveling  may  yet 
be  spared.  But  for  you  he  would,  undoubtedly, 
be  dead." 

"  Except  for  me !  I  thought  I  caused  the  at- 
tack." 

'*  Perhaps  you  did.  But  you  saved  him  from 
something  worse." 

"  How  could  it  have  been  worse  ?  "  Kent  asked 
in  surprise. 

Dr.  Warren  bent  the  keenest  scrutiny  upon  him. 

"  Do  you  know  the  cause  of  Mr.  Aveling's  mid- 
night visit  to  the  gallery  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  realize  the  wonder  of  it.  If  he  had  en- 
tered that  fatal  gallery  his  problems  would  be 
over,  for  he  was  going  to  his  death,  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  race.  And,  as  I  live,  I  believe  that  you 
held  back  the  approach  of  Roxmoor's  doom ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  MESSAGE 

THREE  days  later  Kent  called  upon  Dr.  Warren. 
The  doctor  closely  scanned  the  young  man's  face, 
which  bore  signs  of  the  heavy  strain  that  was 
being  made  upon  him. 

"  I  know  what  you  want,"  Dr.  Warren  said 
abruptly.  "  To  have  me  tell  you  that  you  don't 
need  a  vacation." 

Kent  nodded. 

"  Well,  you  do,"  he  said  roughly.  "  Now,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me.  Why,  I 
fall  into  a  very  devil  of  a  temper  if  any  one  is  so 
impertinent  as  to  rattle  a  newspaper." 

"  Go  out  under  the  sky  for  a  day,"  said  Dr. 
Warren,  locking  his  great  hands  together. 

"  But  is  it  safe  to  leave  Aveling?  That's  what 
I  really  came  to  ask." 

Dr.  Warren  moved  a  paper-weight  upon  his 
desk. 

"  No  one  of  us  is  omniscient,  but  I  believe  Mr. 
Aveling  will  need  your  services  more,  after  a  while, 
than  he  does  now.  I  repeat,  go  out  under  the  sky 
165 


166  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

for  a  day.  Don't  strain  your  nerves  too  far,  they 
are  too  valuable;  and  don't,  for  your  life,  take 
midnight  strolls — in  Roxmoor." 

"  I  didn't  go  very  willingly  on  the  first  one," 
Kent  ruefully  returned.  "  But,  perhaps,  it  was 
just  as  well.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he  would 
have  gone  into  that  horrible  gallery.  Why  don't 
they  wall  up  the  thing?  " 

"  Fate  cannot  be  outwitted,  Mr.  Kent.  What 
must  be,  must  be.  Besides,  I  might  remark  that 
experiments  along  that  line  have  not  encouraged 
their  repetition." 

Kent  looked  curiously  at  the  solemn,  impassive 
countenance,  dimly  hinting  the  surge  of  an  im- 
placable fate.  "  Well,"  he  slowly  began,  "  I  sup- 
pose I  am  not  made  that  way.  I'd  like  to  try 
a  tussle  with  the  powers  that  govern  these  grim 
episodes." 

"  Did  you  feel  so  much  confidence  the  other 
night  with  the  grip  upon  your  throat  ?  " 

Kent  glanced  up,  startled.  "  Is  that  the  way 
they  die?  " 

"  Yes,  we  found  the  late  Mr.  Aveling  with  prints 
of  fingers  upon  his  throat, — strangled  to  death." 

Kent  rose  hastily  from  his  seat.  "  Then,  I  must 
go  at  once  back  to  Roxmoor." 

Dr.  Warren  put  a  finger  upon  his  wrist.  "  Take 
my  advice,  I  have  lived  among  these  horrors  for 
a  lifetime.  Spend  the  day  in  the  open,  it  is  a 


THE  MESSAGE  167 

perilous  necessity.  You  are  sound  and  vigorous, 
but  your  pulse  is  under  fifty.  Do  not  return  to 
Roxmoor  until  sunset,  and  your  pulse  will  be  run- 
ning at  normal  speed." 

Kent  paused  irresolute. 

"  I  know  what  I  am  talking  of,"  said  the  old 
man  kindly.  "  The  vampire  of  Roxmoor  is  drain- 
ing you,  too,  or  you  would  not  have  been  led  into 
the  gallery  the  other  night.  But  we'll  sell  you 
dear,  my  boy,  we'll  sell  you  dear," — he  laid  a 
friendly  hand  upon  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
Kent  met  his  gaze  squarely.  "Will  Ned  be  safe? 
Mrs.  Aveling  has  not  yet  recovered." 

"  But  Watson  is  on  guard.  Whatever  escapes 
his  cat-like  watch  no  one  will  see.  Besides,  Mr. 
Aveling  is  probably  safe  from  attack;  for  the 
impulse  to  seek  that  ordeal  will  not  return  so 
soon,  unless  he  invites  it,  which  is  quite  unlikely." 

Kent  was  persuaded,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  rambling  through  the  country-side,  returning 
late  in  the  afternoon,  refreshed  and  strengthened. 
When  he  came  in  sight  of  Roxmoor  Dr.  War- 
ren's words  flashed  through  his  mind,  and  he  laid 
a  finger  on  his  pulse.  It  bounded  through  his 
veins,  a  full,  vigorous  flood.  He  went  on  a  little 
more  thoughtful  and  concerned. 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  sky  when  he  came  up  the 
lime-bordered  avenue.  The  long,  level  rays  struck 
full  against  the  clump  of  copper  beeches  to  which 


168  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Aveling  had  called  his  attention  the  day  he  came 
to  Roxmoor.  Its  artful  setting  interested  him.  In 
idleness  he  drew  nearer  to  it.  A  thick  growth  of 
pine-trees  stood  behind  it.  His  eye  was  caught 
by  evidences  of  a  concealed  path,  or  at  least  over- 
grown. He  pushed  aside  the  underbrush  and 
stepped  in.  A  pathway,  choked  with  weeds  and 
brambles,  wound  into  an  otherwise  impenetrable 
thicket.  Kent  picked  his  way  through,  growing 
more  curious  every  minute,  and  finally  emerged  in 
a  spot  so  desolate  that  it  seemed  impossible  the 
place  could  belong  to  well-kept  Roxmoor. 

It  was  an  open  court,  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  a  thick  grove  of  pine-trees.  The  fourth  side 
was  formed  by  a  flat  wall  of  the  castle.  In  its 
prime  it  must  have  been  a  place  of  gayety  and 
laughter.  Now  the  arbors  tumbled  in  decay; 
vines,  nourished  by  the  damp  air  of  England,  over- 
ran everything  with  a  mass  of  tangled  drapery. 
The  rank  growth  of  unpruned  trees  choked  up  the 
entrances.  Broken  arches,  and  stained  columns 
were  smothered  in  moss.  Even  the  wind  sighed  in 
mournful  cadences,  a  requiem  to  a  vanished  beauty. 
In  the  centre  stood  a  fountain,  once  a  thing  of 
loveliness.  Now  only  a  thin  stream  of  water 
trickled  through  the  stagnant  pool  in  the  broken 
basin.  A  figure,  poised  lightly  in  the  centre,  had 
lost  both  arms.  The  meaning  of  the  action,  dis- 
appearing with  the  mutilation,  lent  the  whole  foun- 


THE  MESSAGE  169 

tain  an  air  of  ineffectual  effort,  together  with  the 
suggestion  of  a  noble  impulse,  thwarted  by  some 
crippling  circumstance. 

Kent  advanced  further  into  the  court,  wonder- 
ing at  the  strange  motive  which  had  decreed  that 
spot  so  fair  should  be  given  over  to  ruin  and 
decay.  He  wondered,  too,  at  the  artful  intention 
which  concealed  the  entrance.  In  their  explora- 
tions, Aveling  had  referred  to  it  as  a  grove  of 
pine-trees,  and  there  was  nothing  to  belie  his 
words.  Kent  looked  up  at  the  gray  wall  fronting 
him,  unbroken,  except  for  a  series  of  closed  shut- 
ters, and  a  window  which  projected  slightly  and 
ran  to  the  roof.  Every  barred  window  increased 
still  further  the  mystery  that  hung  over  it.  It 
bore  an  acute  resemblance  to  a  closed,  stricken 
face. 

As  his  eye  travelled  over  the  mute  facade,  it 
was  detained  by  a  dark  blot  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  projecting  window.  The  casement  stood  ajar. 
Was  any  one  in  the  room  behind  it?  What  er- 
rand could  bring  anything  human  to  this  old  and 
ruinous  portion  of  the  castle? 

Kent  crossed  the  thick,  weedy  grass.  A  gray 
pine-tree  stood  near  the  open  window.  A  scarlet 
vine  crept  among  the  branches  like  the  drip  of 
blood.  Advancing  to  the  window  Kent  put  his 
elbows  upon  the  ledge  and  looked  in.  A  long, 
lofty  chamber  stretched  away  from  the  window 


170  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

where  he  stood.  At  one  end  was  a  cavernous  fire- 
place, such  as  Mid-England  required  for  family 
comfort  and  hospitality.  It  might  have  been  such 
a  banqueting-hall  as,  in  a  ruder  age,  rang  with  the 
troubadour's  song  and  the  boisterous  gayety  of 
the  wassail  bowl. 

But  there  was  evidence  that,  in  a  later  time,  a 
sober,  saddened  heart  had  swept  out  the  song  and 
laughter  and  filled  the  place  with  another  spirit, 
groping  painfully  with  the  elements  of  a  darker 
experience.  A  row  of  book-shelves,  running  up  to 
the  black-beamed  roof,  extended  entirely  around 
the  room.  They  were  closed  up  with  solid  doors. 
A  few  clumsy  pieces  of  furniture,  worm-eaten  and 
darkened  with  time,  stood  about;  while,  glim- 
mering through  the  shadows,  Kent  discerned  the 
rusty  implements  which  betokened  a  constant  prac- 
tice of  unholy  arts. 

It  was  a  gruesome  place  to  contemplate,  but  it 
stirred  deeper  emotions  in  Kent.  In  the  whole 
dank  atmosphere  and  suggestion  of  unhallowed 
trespass  upon  infernal  regions,  there  came  to  him 
a  strong  analogy  to  the  haunted  tower  and  its 
solitary  chamber.  For,  in  the  shadows  that  glided 
spectrally  through  the  deserted  room,  he  saw  Avel- 
ing,  standing  before  an  open  case,  clutching  with 
eager  haste  one  book  after  another,  feverishly  ex- 
ploring its  leaves  as  if  for  papers,  and  then  push- 
ing it  impatiently  back  to  its  place.  Sometimes 


THE  MESSAGE  171 

he  ran  his  arm  back  of  a  row  of  dusty  volumes, 
always  to  move  on  again,  with  mounting  interest. 

Kent  put  his  hands  upon  the  ledge  and  lightly 
vaulted  through  the  window.  Aveling  turned  a 
white,  staring  face,  in  which  struggled  up  the  fire 
and  fury  of  a  demon,  and  with  the  leap  of  a  mad- 
dened wild  beast  sprang  upon  Kent. 

With  cracking  limbs,  Kent  held  back  the  furious 
attacks,  falling  in  blind  rage,  without  method  or 
meaning,  except  for  the  passion  which  had  trans- 
formed the  man  into  a  demon.  Kent's  cool  brain 
gave  him  the  advantage  that  he  needed,  and  from 
time  to  time  his  quick  hands  laid  a  numbing 
clutch  upon  Aveling's  exhausting  efforts.  Gradu- 
ally, he  felt  the  lessening  vigor  that  stole  through 
the  writhing  frame.  He  began  to  push  him  back- 
ward, until  Aveling  rested  against  the  closed  book- 
shelves. Kent  put  an  iron  hand  upon  each  fast- 
weakening  arm,  and  pinioned  him,  helpless  and 
glaring. 

A  pallor  stole  over  Aveling's  face,  he  began  to 
tremble. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  I  can  wrestle  a  bit  yet,"  said 
Kent,  hoping  to  rescue  a  hopeless  situation.  But 
his  cheery  words  fell  dead  and  lifeless. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  said  Aveling  hoarsely. 

Kent  dropped  his  arms.  The  strength  of  the 
Invader  vanished,  and  only  the  weakened  frame, 
whose  drooping  Kent  had  daily  watched,  remained. 


172  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Aveling  sank  into  a  chair.  He  laid  his  arms  upon 
a  table,  and  putting  his  head  upon  them,  gave  him- 
self over  like  a  man  in  extremity. 

Kent  stood  motionless  until  the  shaking  figure 
at  the  table  grew  a  little  quieter.  Then  he  laid 
his  hand  on  Aveling's  shoulder.  "  Come,  Ned. 
Let  me  take  you  to  your  room,"  he  said  quietly. 

Aveling  raised  a  distorted  face.  "  Kent — will 
you  ever  forgive  me !  " 

"  Nonsense,  boy.  Why,  it  was  just  a  friendly 
tussle." 

The  horror  in  Aveling's  eyes  chilled  him.  "  No, 
Kent — I  meant  to  murder  you." 

Kent  stepped  back  involuntarily  as  Aveling 
clawed  at  the  thick  edges  of  the  table,  swaying  as 
if  hypnotized.  "  I  don't  know  what  I  am — whether 
man  or  beast — or  a  horrible  mixture " 

"Come,  Ned — don't  let's  talk  about  that  now. 
I  am  going  to  take  you  to  your  room.  You  need 
rest." 

But  Aveling  did  not  heed.  He  seemed  to  defend 
himself.  "  Listen,  Kent.  I  dared  to  venture  out 
alone  to-day.  I  let  him  take  me, — soul  and  body, — 
and  I  don't  know,  clearly,  what  happened,  until 
you  came.  I  only  remember  suffering  the  pangs 
of  death,  and  then  I  came  to  life  again,  in  the 
fever  of  a  terrible  passion.  But  the  awful  part 
of  it  was  that  I  did  not  lose  myself.  I  was  two 
men  in  one;  my  soul  had  been  invaded  by  a  spirit 


THE  MESSAGE  173 

abhorrent  to  me.  And  when  I  saw  your  face  I 
did  not  know  you;  you  seemed  to  be  that  other 
person  I  loathed  and  tried  to  strangle,  and  I 
sprang  upon  you  to  kill.  Don't  you  see,  Kent? 
Don't  you  see?  "  he  questioned  feverishly. 

"  See  what,  Ned?  " 

"  I  must  go  on;"  his  wild  eyes  tried  to  meet 
Kent's,  but  they  wavered  as  if  his  volitional  pow- 
ers had  been  broken. 

"  Why?  "  urged  Kent.  He  felt  the  blood  pound 
in  his  ears.  Maybe  he  could  wrench  Aveling's 
secret  loose,  and  learn  why  the  uneasy  dead  came 
back. 

"  I  must  go  on,"  he  said  in  a  thick  voice.  "  If 
I  go  into  the  jaws  of  the  infernal — I  must  know 
what  it  is  he  wants  of  me." 

"  Does  he  want  you  to  tell  him  something?  " 
Kent  whispered,  fearful  to  break  the  spell. 

"  No — no.  To  do — to  do !  He  wants  me  to 
do  something,  and  I  can't  find  out  what  it  is !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  SURRENDER 

AVELING  and  Kent  were  lounging  in  the  Red 
Parlor.  At  a  nearby  table  Mr.  Bateson  sat  look- 
ing over  a  mass  of  papers.  He  had  come  down 
from  London  the  night  before.  Instead  of  work- 
ing in  the  room  devoted  to  business,  Aveling,  for 
some  inscrutable  reason,  had  invaded  the  Red 
Parlor,  where  Kent  was  apt  to  sit  alone  during 
these  interviews. 

The  morning  wore  on  monotonously.  Mr.  Bate- 
son  scratched  busily,  copying  what  he  extracted 
from  the  papers,  which  Kent  noticed  were  old  and 
worn,  into  a  small  red  note-book.  The  quiet  of 
the  room,  and  the  rhythmic  noise  of  the  moving 
pen  produced  a  curious  sensitiveness  of  attention 
in  Kent.  He  was  conscious  of  every  stroke  of 
Bateson's  pen,  and  he  noticed  that  every  time  he 
moved  Aveling  started  in  his  chair. 

He  threw  down  the  book  he  was  reading,  and 
rising  from  his  chair,  sauntered  to  a  window.  He 
yawned  and  stretched  out  his  arms,  striking  Avel- 
ing, who  had  followed  him,  full  in  the  face.  "  Good 

174 


THE  SURRENDER  175 

gracious,  Ned !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I'll  be  hauled  up 
for  assault  and  battery  if  I  go  on  like  this." 

Aveling  smiled  faintly.  "  I  thought  you  might 
be  going  out  and  I  wanted  to  go  along,"  he  said 
wistfully. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  for  a  walk?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care,"  he  replied  indifferently.  "  I 
just  thought  you  were  going." 

Kent  regarded  the  landscape  in  silence.  As  he 
turned  away  from  the  window  his  attention  was  ar- 
rested by  the  peculiar  actions  of  phlegmatic  Mr. 
Bateson,  whose  face  blazed  with  animation.  He 
nodded  significantly  in  Aveling's  direction,  and 
made  some  incomprehensible  gestures,  all  of  which 
greatly  mystified  Kent.  He  was  still  more  puzzled 
when,  a  little  later,  Aveling  moved  toward  the 
door,  and  motioned  him  to  follow.  Kent  obeyed, 
feeling  like  a  puppet  in  a  dumbshow. 

Aveling  struck  into  a  quicker  gait  in  the  cor- 
ridor, with  an  apprehensive  manner,  and  a  nervous, 
occasional  glance  at  him,  from  which  Kent  gath- 
ered that  he  was  expected  to  play  a  part,  the 
nature  of  which  was  yet  entirely  dark  to  him. 
He  preserved  a  steady  and  imperturbable  com- 
posure, watching  his  companion  at  intervals. 

Aveling  seemed  to  grow  more  nervous.  His 
roving  glance  sought  Kent's  more  frequently  and 
left  it  with  a  sense  of  irritation.  They  were  near- 
ing  the  entrance  to  the  picture  gallery.  At  a 


176  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

little  distance  Aveling  paused  and  looked  at  it 
with  sombre  regard,  and  then  turned  abruptly 
away. 

**  There  are  certain  data  which  Bateson  needs. 
He  is  preparing  a  short  history  of  Roxmoor. 
Come  with  me  into  the  Italian  Wing,  I  want  to 
verify  some  of  his  work." 

Kent  obediently  followed,  comparing  notes  in  his 
dryest  manner.  He  noticed  that  Aveling  stopped 
with  elaborate  care  at  every  familiar  place — the 
ancient  tapestry,  a  marble  image  of  some  illus- 
trious saint,  and  the  shrine-like  niche  where  the 
dim  portrait  hung  in  the  darkened  chamber.  He 
mentally  asked  a  rueful  pardon,  for  Aveling 
seemed  to  evoke  his  sympathy  and  aid.  After 
some  time  was  spent  in  this  fruitless  manner, 
Kent  felt  constrained  to  answer,  in  some  way, 
Aveling's  vain  attempts  at  co-operation.  "  I'm 
afraid,  Ned,  that  my  wits  are  cruelly  dependent 
upon  that  crude  contrivance  we  call  a  language," 
he  ventured. 

He  was  baffled  by  a  light  laugh  from  Aveling, 
who  remarked  that  the  lunch  hour  was  near.  Con- 
versation turned,  by  some  weird  caprice,  upon  Eng- 
lish politics,  which,  just  then,  were  full  of  lively 
interest,  and  luncheon,  at  which  they  were  joined 
by  Dr.  Warren,  was  a  very  cheerful  experience. 

After  the  meal  was  over,  Kent  strolled  into  the 
Red  Parlor  with  Mrs.  Aveling,  where  he  was  to 


THE  SURRENDER  177 

wait  for  the  others,  consulting  together  on  busi- 
ness in  another  room.  When  that  was  finished 
they  were  to  proceed  together  to  the  picture 
gallery.  Aveling  said  he  wanted  Kent's  advice 
about  the  lighting,  which  needed  improvement. 

Kent  was  struck  afresh  by  Mrs.  Aveling's  frail 
appearance.  The  carefully  laid  rouge  did  not  de- 
ceive him ;  nor  her  forced  appetite  and  spirits  at 
the  table.  She  bent  over  a  bit  of  sewing  now,  but 
her  manner  betrayed  suppressed  excitement,  and 
she  often  glanced  up  as  if  expecting  something. 

At  the  sound  of  Aveling's  voice  calling  loudly 
for  Kent,  she  rose  hastily  to  her  feet,  and  as  Kent 
passed  her  on  his  way  from  the  room,  she  caught 
his  arm. 

"  He  has  given  up  to  you,"  she  whispered. 
"  Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  dumb  asking,  as 
if  that  loved  life  lay  in  his  gift.  He  understood 
now  Bateson's  mysterious  gestures,  and  Dr.  War- 
ren's veiled  hints  at  luncheon.  All  three — doc- 
tor, lawyer,  and  wife — expected  him  to  see  Avel- 
ing through  some  ordeal,  and  Aveling,  no  doubt, 
meant  him  to  use  the  hint  gained  yesterday.  The 
old  lord  wanted  him  "  to  do  "  some  stated  thing, 
and  Aveling's  present  venture,  whatever  it  was, 
pointed  to  that  end.  A  dreadful  sense  of  his 
own  impotence  sickened  him.  He  saw  despair 
dull  Mrs.  Aveiing's  face  as  she  watched  his. 


178  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  Have  faith,  dear  Mrs.  Aveling.  We  will  do 
our  very  best,"  he  said  bravely. 

"  Is  that  all  you  can  say  ?  "  The  grief  in  her 
words  told  that  some  inward  stay  sank. 

"  It  is  all  I  dare  say,"  he  replied,  the  truth 
wrung  from  him  by  the  sheer  impossibility  of  fac- 
ing her  with  a  lie.  He  bowed  as  her  hand  slowly 
dropped  from  his  arm,  and  with  lowered  eyes 
passed  through  the  door. 

Aveling,  with  a  light  flow  of  talk,  led  the  way 
to  the  gallery.  He  threw  open  the  door,  discuss- 
ing the  various  theories  of  light,  and  the  possible 
use  of  prisms  to  divert  the  rays  into  dark  corners, 
circling  about  the  vast  chamber  until  he  stood  be- 
fore the  portrait  of  the  Templar.  A  rapid  and 
startling  change  came  over  him,  as  if  he  had 
masked  for  a  while,  and  now  brushed  away  a 
hindrance.  His  hesitation  had  been  swallowed  up, 
and  in  its  place  a  stern  and  man-like  resolution 
invited  Kent  to  join  a  warfare.  He  now  began  to 
speak,  with  an  intense,  dramatic  fire. 

"  There  be  deeps  within  the  human  soul,  where, 
perchance,  may  lie  treasures.  But  only  one  can 
go  below  to  search, — and  the  other  " — he  paused 
with  an  impassioned  gesture — "  the  friend  will 
wait,  and,  maybe — save." 

With  a  swift  movement,  he  stepped  within  the 
circle  of  light,  which  the  daytime  made  invisible. 
His  whole  frame  was  shaken  in  convulsions, — 


THE  SURRENDER  179 

and  the  Templar,  in  all  his  melancholy  stateliness, 
stepped  forth. 

Kent  staggered  back,  for  Dr.  Warren  had  said 
this  was  the  ordeal  which  no  Aveling  survived. 
Their  greatest  care  had  been  to  prevent  such  a 
stimulation  of  memory  as  might  produce  it;  and 
now  he  had,  apparently,  connived  with  Aveling  in 
this  dangerous  experiment.  Kent  turned  about, 
white  to  the  lips.  "  My  God,  Warren !  How 
dared  you  let  him  go  ?  " 

The  doctor  stopped  him  with  a  hasty  gesture. 

"  Take  courage,  friend.  The  day  of  miracles 
has  returned." 

"Miracles?" 

"  Yes,  for  no  Aveling  has  ever  had  the  fortitude 
to  seek  that  awful  change.  It  has  only  occurred 
by  the  driving  of  some  irresistible  force.  But  some 
mysterious  element  you  put  into  him  nerved  him 
to  the  trial,  and  after  the  last  test  of  your  power, 
I  could  not  refuse  consent." 

Kent  watched,  with  fascinated  eyes,  the  strange 
figure  moving  slowly  away  to  pause  before  the  por- 
trait that  hung  beside  the  Templar.  "  What  does 
he  hope  from  such  a  mad  experiment?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  husky  whisper. 

"  That  he  may  find  it  possible,  if  your  reason- 
ing is  correct,  to  venture  into  the  dread  land  of 
another  personality,  and  be  sure  of  safe  return. 
If  his  purpose  should  succeed,  and  you  can  recall 


180  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

him,  he  may  yet  wring  his  salvation  from  the 
powers  which  control  the  human  destiny." 

He  paused,  for  Aveling  had  started  up  with  a 
stifled  cry.  He  ran  his  hand  across  his  head,  and 
then,  with  terrible  haste,  sped  through  the  vast 
apartment,  toward  the  entrance.  Warren,  in 
trembling  excitement,  seized  Kent. 

"  Go,  man,  and  quickly.  His  life  is  in  deadly 
peril!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  ANSWEE 

KENT  followed  Aveling,  watching  closely.  But, 
beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  on  some  kind  of 
search,  Aveling's  actions  were  without  significance. 
There  was  apparent  neither  method  nor  order 
in  his  movements,  rambling  aimlessly  through  the 
endless  corridors,  with  a  disagreeable  resemblance 
to  a  lost  soul  seeking  Paradise.  He  wandered  into 
the  apartments  which  his  ancestral  double  had  oc- 
cupied in  life ;  and  the  vast  hall,  where  the  old  lord 
had  pored  eagerly  over  black-letter  books,  or 
worked  strange  spells  with  the  rude  chemistry  of 
the  age ;  even  straying  to  the  deserted  court,  which 
had  been  his  solace  in  its  day  of  beauty. 

By  careful  observation,  Kent  discovered  that, 
after  each  baffled  hunt,  there  came  a  period  of 
confusion,  and  that  Aveling  always  returned  to 
the  picture,  as  if  to  secure,  in  his  groping  senses, 
the  new  starting-point  his  failure  asked.  Beyond 
this,  there  was  nothing  gained.  He  went  mechan- 
ically over  the  weary  round,  until  signs  of  ex- 
haustion began  to  appear  in  his  increasing  pallor 
and  flagging  step.  But  he  kept  steadily  on,  with 
181 


182  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

machine-like  precision,  testing  panels,  and  search- 
ing closets  as  if  for  hidden  recesses. 

After  some  time  had  passed,  he  came  to  a  sud- 
den halt  before  the  portrait  in  the  gallery,  an 
eerie  repetition  of  the  vanished  man,  knocking  so 
insistently  upon  the  thin  walls  which  lie  between 
the  living  and  the  dead.  But  he  did  not  find  the 
trail  again,  and  began  to  tremble,  making  flurried, 
helpless  motions,  showing  plainly  slackening  signs 
of  the  Invader's  power.  Dr.  Warren  stepped  for- 
ward and  touched  his  arm,  but  he  did  not  notice. 
Warren,  with  solemn  emotion,  beckoned  to  Kent. 

"  Now  is  the  time.     See  if  you  can  recall  him." 

A  thrill  of  fear  shot  through  Kent.  Suppose 
that  he  should  fail !  Suppose  the  inscrutable  laws 
which  guard  a  spiritual  world  from  rash  invasion 
should  foil  his  purpose  to  enter  the  hell  of  Avel- 
ing's  lost  consciousness,  and  burst  its  sepulchre. 
For  one  horrible  moment  he  suffered  the  pangs  of 
failure.  Then,  thrusting  the  possibility  out  of 
his  mind  and  marshalling  his  energies  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  purpose,  he  stepped  forward, 
and  grasping  both  Aveling's  shoulders,  spoke 
quietly  in  his  ear,  an  old  boyhood  call,  "  I  say,  Ned, 
I'm  here.  It's  Kent." 

A  slight  shiver  passed  through  Aveling.  His 
bright,  friendly  eyes  uncovered,  and  the  old  an- 
swer left  his  lips.  "  All  right,  Kent.  I'm  here, 
too." 


THE  ANSWER  183 

With  this  triumph  in  his  mind,  Aveling  fell  to 
his  task  with  renewed  vigor.  The  fatal  time  was 
surely  drawing  nearer.  Kent,  with  a  new  grasp 
upon  the  behavior  expected  of  him,  kept  close  by 
Aveling's  side,  who  now  passed  almost  completely 
under  the  power  he  no  longer  tried  to  keep  at  bay. 
His  frequent  transformations  told  heavily  on  his 
strength.  Kent  watched  with  redoubled  vigilance, 
but  the  swiftly  passing  days  brought  them  no 
nearer  to  the  hoped-for  end.  Aveling's  nights  be- 
gan to  be  troubled.  He  rose  as  if  in  a  trance, 
and  continued  his  weary  search,  until  Kent's  faith 
in  his  own  reasonings  began  to  flag.  He  could 
make  no  use  of  the  willing  tool  that  lay  in  his 
hands.  Where  did  the  fault  lie?  In  the  relaxation 
of  mind  and  courage,  the  general  belief  in  the 
doom  of  Roxmoor  gained  horrible  power  to  weigh 
him  down,  for  Aveling's  fearful  night-walks  were 
full  of  danger  to  them  both. 

Late  one  afternoon,  fagged  and  weary,  he  sat 
alone  in  the  Red  Parlor,  running  the  matter  over. 
In  a  week  the  fatal  birthday  would  be  on  them, 
and  he  hoped  for  nothing  now,  from  the  daily 
round  of  the  desolate  rooms,  which  he  made  in 
Aveling's  wake.  He  strove  to  think  of  some  other 
way  to  handle  circumstances,  or  some  other  place 
to  seize  the  mystery.  He  again  went  carefully 
over  Aveling's  movements,  when,  like  an  offering 
of  fate,  there  returned  the  memory  of  the  mys- 


184  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

terious  grave  beneath  the  willows.  Ke  started 
up.  Aveling  was  somewhere  in  Watson's  care. 
He  might  go  to  the  grave  alone. 

Spurred  by  a  faint  hope,  he  hurried  out  through 
the  hall,  when  he  saw  Mrs.  Aveling  descend  the 
great  stairs.  A  ray  of  light  struck  full  in  her 
face,  and  in  its  radiance,  Kent  saw  a  terrible 
transformation.  A  sudden  misgiving  seized  him. 
Perhaps  he  had  done  wrong  to  rouse  her  to  fresh 
hope,  for  he  realized,  in  the  cruel  light,  that  she 
was  little  able  to  meet  the  keen  grief  of  a  second 
disappointment.  It  was  not  so  much  that  she  was 
pale  and  thin  that  caused  Kent's  consternation. 
But  a  dreadful  blight  seemed  to  have  settled  about 
her  youth  and  bloom.  She  came  on  down  the 
stairs  until  she  stood  before  him.  With  her  hol- 
low, gray  eyes,  she  directed  his  attention  to  the 
wall,  where  a  calendar  hung.  A  slender  pencil 
of  light  fell  through  the  casement,  and  brought 
the  date  into  clear  relief,  white  figures  on  a  black 
ground — October  twenty-six.  Only  five  days  re- 
mained. 

Mrs.  Aveling  devoured  Kent's  face,  and  a  great 
hunger  overspread  her  own,  as  if  she  asked  him  to 
be  more  than  human.  With  a  motion  of  despair, 
he  bent  his  pained  eyes  upon  her.  "  Heaven  knows 
I'll  guard  him  like  my  own  soul,"  he  said  in  a  deep, 
shaken  voice.  "  But,  pray  to  all  your  gods  to  send 
me  some  assurance  that  I  am  of  any  use  to  him !  " 


THE  ANSWER  185 

and  without  another  word,  he  passed  swiftly 
through  the  door,  and  away  from  the  house. 

He  hurried  to  the  cemetery,  still  hoping  for 
some  result  from  his  fruitless  visits.  It  had  fallen 
on  him  like  a  spell  that  the  gods  must  send  him  a 
sign,  or  his  courage  would  fail.  A  fleece  of  clouds 
gathered  in  the  west  did  not  promise  success  for 
his  venture,  and  just  as  he  set  foot  inside  the  gate, 
they  passively  quenched  the  burning  disk. 

"  Do  the  very  stars  in  their  courses  war  against 
us  ?  "  he  thought  in  impatient  anger  as  he  passed 
along  the  path  to  where  the  grave  lay. 

He  looked  intently  at  the  slab  of  marble  which 
had  raised  emotions  so  profound  in  Aveling.  Care- 
fully he  scanned  the  weather-worn  surface. 
Slowly  the  clouds  in  the  west  lifted,  and  the  sun 
streamed  out.  Kent  gave  a  sudden  start  and  bent 
over  the  stone,  eagerly  examining  it.  Then  he 
withdrew  a  pace  or  two,  and  a  look  of  wonder, 
even  horror  crossed  his  face.  The  long,  horizontal 
rays  of  late  afternoon  struck  across  the  grain  of 
the  stone,  revealing  every  changing  tint  and  con- 
tour and  undulation.  With  deep  wonder  he  saw, 
starting  from  the  depths  of  the  granite,  as  if 
drawn  by  a  human  hand,  the  face  of  a  woman 
gazing  straight  at  him. 

As  he  continued  to  look  he  felt  something 
steal  over  him,  the  consciousness  of  being  watched. 
He  raised  his  eyes  to  search  for  that  spell,  and 


186  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

saw,  directly  in  front  of  him,  framed  about  by 
a  thick  tangle  of  leaves,  the  same  eyes,  the  eyes 
of  the  tombstone.  They  were  the  same,  but  liv- 
ing, and  in  a  human  face,  which  was  screened  by 
the  protecting  leaves.  They  looked  straight  at 
him,  but  they  were  friendly  eyes,  and  not  un- 
known as  he  quietly  realized.  He  glanced  back  at 
the  stone,  and  started.  The  eyes  there  seemed  to 
borrow  life  and  color  from  the  living  ones  above. 
The  eyes  among  the  leaves  were  the  questioning 
ones  of  a  child;  these  were  the  same,  but  burning 
with  the  knowledge  of  the  human  pilgrimage,  as  if 
life  still  held,  for  the  soul  that  owned  them,  the  em- 
blems of  an  ageless  sorrow.  Again  Kent's  glance 
shifted  to  the  living  eyes.  Only  a  second,  they 
stayed  to  meet  him,  and  silently,  with  a  slight 
shaking  of  the  leaves,  were  gone. 

Kent  lost  all  thought  of  time,  until  some  one 
clutched  his  arm,  and  he  knew  Aveling  was  there. 
He  involuntarily  glanced  at  the  tombstone.  Avel- 
ing saw  his  meaning  shift  of  look.  "  Did  you  see 
it?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  saw  a  woman's  face,"  said  Kent. 

A  great  joy  flamed  into  Aveling's  face. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  fervently  exclaimed. 

Kent  made  a  gesture  in  the  direction  of  the 
gravestone.  "  What  does  that  face  mean  to  you?  " 
he  asked  in  some  surprise. 


THE  ANSWER  187 

Aveling  stepped  back.  "  Come  and  see,"  he  said 
simply. 

They  returned  to  the  house,  and  Aveling  led 
the  way  to  the  picture  gallery,  pausing  before  the 
portrait  of  a  woman  which  hung  beside  the 
Templar.  And  there  glowed,  in  a  sudden  revela- 
tion, the  same  deep  eyes.  Other  scenes  and  memo- 
ries shifted  in  Kent's  brain, — the  faded  picture 
in  the  deserted  bed-chamber, — the  eyes  on  the 
tombstone, — the  eyes  in  the  leaves, — he  groped  a 
little  further,  and  seemed  to  see,  in  the  shadow  of 
an  overhanging  fate,  a  child,  standing  by  a  road- 
way,— a  wistful  child  with  friendly  eyes He 

started  back,  and  shouted,  "  Little  Mariola !  " 

He  was  stupefied  by  his  own  discovery.  "  What 
does  it  mean,  Ned  ?  "  he  said  in  bewilderment.  "  I 
don't  understand." 

"  Neither  do  I.  But  I've  always  known,  with 
that  conviction  which  is  better  than  knowledge, 
that  Mariola  had  some  vital  part  in  the  fatality 
at  Roxmoor.  And  now  that  you  have  seen  the 
face  on  her  mother's  gravestone,  I  feel  fresh  as- 
surance that  we'll  break  through  the  tangle." 

"  I  still  don't  understand,"  said  Kent.  "  Who 
is  this  woman  whose  picture  hangs  here,  and  what 
has  she  to  do  with  Mariola  and  her  mother?  " 

"  This  picture  is  a  portrait  of  the  Templar's 
wife,  whose  name  is  also  Mariola.  How  her  name, 


188  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

and  even  her  very  features,  came  to  be  reproduced 
in  this  alien  family,  I  know  no  more  than  you  do." 

Kent's  thoughts  returned  to  the  quiet  grave 
and  the  level  rays  of  sunset  light  which  drew  out 
the  face  more  clearly.  "  Why  has  no  one  ever  seen 
that  face  in  the  stone  before  ?  " 

"  I  think,  now,  it  must  be  that  it  is  only  to  be 
seen  by  some  favorable  change  of  light,  and  I  was 
always  alone  when  it  appeared.  I  have  dragged 
every  one  here,  but  no  one  saw  it.  Then  I  banked 
on  you,  and  you  didn't  fail  me,  Kent, — you  never 
do!" 

He  wrung  Kent's  hand  in  both  his  own.  Fresh 
energy  was  visibly  flowing  in  him.  He  spoke  in  a 
tone .  of  deep  conviction.  "  Kent,  you'll  help  me 
out  of  this  bog  yet.  Never  doubt  that  the  good 
God  sent  you  here ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

STRIKING   THE    TRAIL 

WHEN  Kent  and  Aveling  entered  the  hall  they 
found  Lady  Melton  with  Mrs.  Aveling. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  am  a  nice  person  ?  "  smiled 
her  ladyship.  "  I  have  come  to  dine  with  you. 
Betty  and  Lord  Melton  are  coming,  too." 

Kent  knew  by  the  anxious  gleam  in  her  eyes 
that  she  had  come  to  relieve  her  forebodings  about 
them  all,  and  he  gave  her  a  look  that  caused  her 
troubled  countenance  to  lift. 

The  company  which  presently  gathered  was 
quite  subdued,  except  for  Betty's  lively  chatter. 
When  dinner  was  over  they  formed  a  group 
around  the  fireplace  in  the  hall,  where  great  logs 
sent  a  blaze  roaring  up  the  chimney.  The  night 
was  sharp  and  chill  outside.  Kent  withdrew  a 
little  from  the  heat  of  the  fire.  Aveling  instantly 
stirred. 

"  Where  are  you  going? "  he  inquired  anx- 
iously. 

"  I  am  going  to  get  a  more  comfortable  chair 
for  Miss  Betty,"  said  Kent,  with  hasty  invention. 

"  But  I  don't  want  a  more  comfortable  chair," 
189 


190  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

flashed  Betty,  from  a  low  stool  in  the  chimney- 
corner.  "  I  am  afraid  you  were  not  listening, 
Mr.  Kent,  or  you  would  know  that  I  was  reciting 
Indian  legends — my  own  family  tradition,  if  you 
please — and  I  wouldn't  want  to  be  comfortable 
while  telling  these  hair-raising  tales  of  my  an- 
cestors." 

Aveling's  face  blanched,  his  hands  trembled, 
and  he  half  rose  from  his  chair.  No  one  saw 
him  but  Kent.  Aveling's  movements  were  noise- 
less. Betty  was  looking  into  the  fire,  her  hands 
clasped  upon  her  knee.  A  half-smile  played  about 
her  lips.  Kent  put  his  hand  heavily  upon  Avel- 
ing's arm  and,  leaning  forward,  drew  every  one's 
attention  to  the  girlish  figure  dreaming  in  the 
firelight. 

"  And  besides "  The  meaning  glance  fin- 
ished his  sentence  as  it  rested  in  open  admiration 
upon  the  picture  in  the  chimney-corner.  Betty 
turned  and  met  his  look.  The  flush  upon 
her  cheeks  deepened  as  she  again  faced 
the  fire. 

"  It  gives  the  story  more  dramatic  force,"  she 
said  composedly.  "  My  favorite  great-grand- 
mother had  a  fancy  for  the  chimney-corner." 

As  she  moved,  the  firelight  brought  into  sharp 
light  the  setting  of  a  miniature  hanging  at  her 
neck. 

"  Is  that  her  portrait  ?  "  inquired  Kent. 


STRIKING  THE  TRAIL  191 

Betty  put  her  hand  upon  the  miniature.  "  Yes, 
that  is  her  likeness.  It  is  one  of  Cosway's  best." 
She  unhooked  it  from  the  chain.  Kent  came  for- 
ward to  examine  it. 

"  And  did  the  Indians  scalp  and  tomahawk  her, 
too?" 

"  Oh,  dear  no !  "  laughed  Betty.  "  She  never 
left  England.  She  was  an  Earl's  daughter,  and 
made  a  shocking  mesalliance, — married  a  ple- 
beian; an  elopement  by  moonlight  it  was,  with  all 
the  usual  accompaniments,  and  from  that  branch 
of  the  family  we  came." 

"  The  usual  accompaniments,"  mused  Kent. 
"  I  suppose  you  mean  excommunication,  and  all 
that."  He  glanced  at  Aveling,  who  had  sunk  into 
a  mood  of  indifference.  He  looked  pale  and 
waxen,  as  if  the  life  currents  had  been  silently 
withdrawn. 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  was  highly  regular ! "  Betty 
went  on.  "  She  was  roundly  cursed  by  the  Earl, 
her  father;  and,  although  she  begged  at  his  door 
one  freezing  winter  night  a  few  years  later  when 
her  husband  was  dead,  he  virtuously  refused  to 
see  her  to  his  dying  day." 

"  What  a  narrow  escape !  "  said  Kent.  "  You 
might  have  been  an  English  nobleman." 

"  Yes,  I  often  think  of  it.  But  the  only  thing 
that  gives  me  any  real  concern  is  the  portrait 
gallery.  I  could  support  with  haughty  scorn  the 


192  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

worst  that  life  could  do,  if  I  had  a  gallery  full 
of  ancestral  portraits  at  my  back." 

A  thrill  went  through  Aveling's  frame,  and  life 
and  animation,  invisible  as  an  electric  current, 
flowed  back  to  every  feature  as  he  spoke  with  quiet 
dignity  to  Betty.  "  I  believe  you  have  not  seen 
the  Roxmoor  gallery,"  he  said. 

The  girl  started  at  the  peculiar,  vibrant  voice, 
casting  a  glance  of  fear  over  the  circle.  Aveling 
pointedly  addressed  himself  to  her. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  it?  "  he  asked,  in  full, 
resonant  tones. 

"  No — that  is,  yes,"  she  stammered. 

Aveling  at  once  ordered  lights  in  the  gallery. 
Betty  withdrew  her  fascinated  gaze  and  looked 
imploringly  at  Lady  Melton,  who  came  at  once 
to  her  side.  "  Don't  fret,"  she  said  soothingly,  as 
she  laid  a  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder.  "  It  is  too 
late  now.  All  may  yet  go  well,  dear." 

In  spite  of  her  reassuring  words,  Betty  read 
her  fear.  Lady  Melton  turned  away  and  went  to 
Mrs.  Aveling,  leaving  the  girl  incapable  of  speech 
or  motion,  watching  with  mournful  face  Aveling's 
directions  to  the  servants.  He  seemed  to  be  per- 
fectly master  of  himself.  Then  Betty  heard 
Kent's  voice  in  her  ear.  A  vague  comfort  stole 
over  her  as  she  met  his  eyes.  She  quickly  put 
her  hand  into  the  arm  he  held  out  to  her. 


STRIKING  THE  TRAIL  193 

"  Do  not  fear,"  he  said,  in  low,  imploring  tones. 

"  But  suppose  I  have "  She  shivered  and 

her  face  was  full  of  trouble  as  she  again  looked 
at  Aveling. 

"  But  suppose  I  can "  Kent  smiled  down 

at  her. 

The  light  of  an  answering  spirit  shone  in  her 
eyes  as  she  lifted  them  to  his.  "  You  are  a  most 
provoking  tease,"  she  declared,  with  a  pale  smile. 
"  But  you  are  comforting." 

They  were  the  last  to  enter  the  gallery.  It 
was  the  first  time  Kent  had  seen  it  with  leisure 
to  examine  its  characteristics.  His  former  visits 
had  been  hurried  and  anxious  ones  and  the  light 
poor  and  insufficient.  Now  it  was  fully  illumi- 
nated— a  noble  apartment  of  enormous  size, 
floored  with  rich  mosaic,  and  ornamented  with  pil- 
lars of  whitest  marble.  Here,  more  than  any- 
where, was  shown  the  flight  of  time.  A  motley 
collection  of  pictures  of  every  degree  of  merit 
thickly  covered  the  walls ;  the  earliest  Italian  mas- 
ters; some  unknown  men  of  genius,  antedating 
even  Italy's  great  period,  down  through  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  Art's  great  moments  to  the  best  of 
contemporary  effort.  There  were  old,  darkened 
portraits  from  the  Middle  Ages;  some  of  them 
stood  a  noble  testimony  to  the  care  of  ancient 
painters;  some  of  them  had  completely  receded 


194  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

in  shadow,  leaving  only  here  and  there  an  uncer- 
tain light  or  gleam  of  color  where  a  prominent 
feature  or  a  gay  robe  had  been. 

The  sense  of  awe  that  pervades  the  halls  of  Art 
subdued  the  talk,  and  the  company  fell  apart  in 
little  groups.  Kent  and  Betty  moved  slowly 
along  the  wall,  studying  the  canvases  and  ex- 
changing comments.  They  halted  before  a  row 
of  portraits — four  young  men  accompanied  by 
four  women.  All  of  them  bore  evidences  of  recent 
work.  The  fresh  paint  glittered;  the  gold  upon 
the  heavy  frames  looked  garish  in  its  newness 
beside  the  mellow  tints  that  predominated  in  the 
vast  apartment.  Kent  stood  so  still  and  stared 
so  fixedly  at  the  pictures  that  Betty  looked  up. 
His  face  displayed  the  premonition  that  seemed 
to  leap  out  of  the  spot  of  newness  in  the  old. 

"  Who  are  they?  "  Betty  quickly  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Kent  returned,  adding  in  a 
lower  voice :  "  Come,  quick — away  from  here. 
Aveling  is  coming  this  way." 

A  moment  later  he  was  discoursing,  with  all 
possible  nonchalance,  upon  the  beauties  of  a  Hol- 
bein portrait, — an  old  man  with  a  pair  of  lean, 
bony  hands  crossed  upon  his  lap;  a  thin,  ascetic 
mouth,  and  that  assurance  of  likeness  which  true 
portraiture  always  gives. 

"  Well,  Kent — can't  you  find  anything  better 
than  that  old  ascetic  for  Betty  to  look  at  ?  "  Avel- 


STRIKING  THE  TRAIL  195 

ing  came  forward.  "  You  come  with  me.  I'll 
show  you  a  row  of  Gainsborough  and  Romney 
beauties  that  will  make  you  wonder  what  Kent 
does  with  his  eyes." 

Kent  watched  them  go  off,  and  then  quickly 
searched  the  hall  for  Lady  Melton.  With  a  few 
rapid  strides  he  was  at  her  side. 

"  Will  you  take  pity  on  me  and  escort  me  safely 
through  the  centuries  ?  "  he  asked,  adding  whim- 
sically, "  It  is  my  youngness  again." 

"Youngness?     Why  not  youth?  " 

"  Because  there  is  hope  for  youth,"  he  said 
dramatically.  "  Youth  is  of  the  future,  while 
youngness  can  only  wither  and  fall,  but  never 
ripen." 

"  I  am  consumed  with  sorrow  for  your  pitiable 
state,"  said  Lady  Melton,  with  A  musical  laugh 
as  she  placed  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

She  kept  up  a  light  flow  of  talk,  Kent  drawing 
her  insensibly  toward  the  row  of  fresh  portraits. 
She  started  when  she  saw  them. 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  stop  here !  "  she  said 
passionately. 

"  Who  are  they  ?  "  was  Kent's  low,  imperious 
demand. 

"  The  last  four  heirs,"  she  panted. 

"  Ah,  I  see, — who  all  died  at  thirty-five."  He 
felt  her  glance  leap  upon  him.  "  Did  they  all  live 
at  Roxmoor  for  any  length  of  time?" 


196  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  Three  of  them  lived  here  for  short  periods 
of  time.  The  last  one  lived  here  just  three  weeks." 
She  still  breathed  a  little  fast.  "  It  was  horrible," 
she  finished,  shuddering. 

Kent  leaned  toward  her.  "  Lady  Melton,  why 
were  you  so  frightened  ?  " 

She  glanced  hurriedly  at  Aveling.  He  was  com- 
ing in  their  direction.  Betty  was  evidently  ill  at 
ease,  but  she  was  talking  bravely.  Lady  Melton 
began  hastily  to  examine  a  picture. 

"  He  does  not  know  that  they  all  died  at 
thirty-five.  We  have  used  every  device  to  keep 
him  from  knowing  it." 

Kent  was  running  over  the  curious  matter  of 
the  portraits.  There  seemed  to  be  more  in  it  than 
Lady  Melton  had  disclosed. 

"  By  whose  order  were  the  portraits  painted?  " 
was  his  next  question. 

Lady  Melton's  voice  trembled. 

"  By  the  present  master." 

"When?" 

"  As  soon  as  he  came  to  Roxmoor." 

Kent  considered  a  moment. 

"  Did  he  seem  to  be  especially  anxious  about 
it?" 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  met  his  eyes 
squarely. 

"  It  was  the  first  sign  of — of  the  usual  change 
that  comes  to  the  unhaj>py  master  of  Roxmoor." 


STRIKING  THE  TRAIL  197 

She  recoiled,  for  a  most  amazing  change  had  come 
over  Kent. 

"  The  first  sign — as  if  he  were  in  haste  about 
a  duty ;  as  if  he  were  impressed  to  be  hasty  ?  "  He 
stopped,  with  an  enquiry  in  his  voice. 

"Yes,"  faltered  Lady  Melton. 

"  Tell  me,  of  what  did  the  late  Mr.  Avel- 
ing  die  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone. 

"  He  was   found  dead." 

"But  of  what  did  he  die?"  he  repeated,  with 
dogged  emphasis. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  she  said  composedly. 

"  And  they — the  autocratic  and  infallible  they 
— what  do  they  say  ?  " 

"  Neither  do  they  know, — nor  any  other 
creature." 

Kent  was  struck  by  the  lingering  expression  in 
the  last  word. 

"  Creature — no  creature  knows,"  he  said  mean- 
ingly. Lady  Melton's  cool,  crisp  tones  cut  in. 

"  There  be  things  of  the  earth,  earthy ;  and 
there  be  things  of  the  spirit;"  and  then  with  a 
quick  change  of  voice,  "  The  two  make  a  very 
queer  mixture,  Mr.  Kent." 

He  turned  her  about  with  a  slight  movement, 
and  she  found  herself  facing  the  Templar.  She 
hastily  stepped  back. 

"  It  seems  like  a  live  thing,"  she  said. 


198  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Kent  was  watching  the  niche  below,  with  its 
faint  radiance. 

"  Lady  Melton,  why  does  that  lamp  burn 
there?" 

"  It  was  one  of  the  provisions  of  the  Templar's 
will  that  a  lamp  should  always  burn  there."  She 
hesitated.  "  It  is  said  the  Templar  caused  the 
niche  to  be  made,  and  left  his  curse  upon  the 
house  should  any  neglectful  son  forget  his  duty." 

"And  has  the  lamp  always  burned?" 

"Alas!  no." 

"When  did  it  go  out?" 

"  That  is  not  known." 

"  And  when  was  it  re-lit  ?  " 

"  During  the  incumbency  of  the  present 
master." 

"At  what  time?" 

"  Just  thirty-one  days  ago." 

He  faced  her  in  open  astonishment.  "  Since  I 
came  ?  " 

"  Since  you  came." 

Kent's  mind  sped  back.  That  must  have  been 
just  before  the  revelation  in  the  gallery.  Then 

it  must  have  been Like  a  vivid  experience 

it  all  returned  to  him.  He  saw  Aveling's  swift 
passage  through  the  corridor,  and  Bateson 
stealthily  following  with  an  unlighted  taper,  that 
day  he  watched  from  a  corner  of  the  deserted 
wing. 


STRIKING  THE  TRAIL  199 

He  stared  in  silence  at  the  niched  lamp,  then  up 
at  the  saturnine  visage  of  the  Templar.  He 
shifted  his  position  slightly  and  allowed  his  gaze 
to  rest  upon  the  canvas  next  to  it. 

"  Lady  Melton,  did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that 
there  should  be  some  reason  for  the  likeness  of 
name  and  face  between  this  ancient  lady  and  our 
small  friend,  Mariola?  " 

She  started,  as  if  he  had  touched  a  subject  of 
painful  thought.  "  Could  it  have  any  connection 
with  the  trouble  of  my  friend,  Mme.  Barotti  ?  " 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Mariola's  grandmother, — a  lovely  soul,  who 
lives  in  an  isolation  as  strange  as  Mr.  Aveling*s." 

Kent  flashed  an  eager  look  upon  her.  "  Tell 
me  what  you  mean?" 

"  Mr.  Barotti,  Mariola's  father,  is  under  the 
spell  of  a  curious  hate  for  the  master  of  Rox- 
moor,  whoever  he  may  happen  to  be,  and,  in  the 
recent  rapid  change  of  succession,  has  been 
wrought  into  a  frenzy  at  times.  Now  I  see  some 
meaning  in  it.  Mr.  Aveling  stands  for  this  no- 
ble lady,  and  Barotti  stands  for  Mariola,  with 
this  curious  bar  of  hate  between  them." 

"  But  Aveling  does  not  hate,"  said  Kent. 

"  What  does  he  feel  ?  "  she  eagerly  asked.  "  I 
know  he  loves  Mariola." 

"  He  feels  impelled  to  find  something  in  the 
manor,  and,  combined  with  this,  an  unaccountable 


200  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

wish  to  give  to  Mariola  and  her  father.  Now 
here  we  must  use  a  little  invention.  The  old  lord 
wishes  to  give.  Aveling  feels  an  inclination  to 
give  to  Mariola,  but  cannot  make  his  impulse  take 
any  definite  form.  Now  suppose  the  formulated 
wish  of  the  Lord  Aveling  is  to  give  to  the  Barotti 
family.  There  must  be  some  reason  for  it,  some 
tie  of  blood,  or  some  obligation  deep  enough  to 
defy  the  oblivion  of  ages." 

Lady  Melton  was  searching  his  face  with  a 
wistful  struggle,  as  if  she  dared  not  take  the  hope 
he  offered.  "  Your  words  startle  me  with  hints 
of  something  I  only  vaguely  understand.  How 
can  you  smile  over  this  dreadful  thing?  " 

"  Because  I  feel  the  first  ray  of  real  happiness 
I  have  known  since  I  came  to  this  accursed  place." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  in  breathless  suspense. 

"  I  see,  for  the  first  time,  a  way  out  of  Ned's 
entanglement ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVIH 

A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    LIGHT 

THE  following  morning  Kent  was  walking  at 
a  brisk  pace  through  a  by-path  little  frequented. 
It  was  grass-grown  and  nearly  lost  to  the  eye. 
In  the  morning  light  Kent  was  seen  to  be  per- 
ceptibly aged.  His  usually  fresh  color  had  be- 
come ashy,  his  expression  was  of  perpetual  strain. 
He  did  not  spare  a  glance  for  the  landscape  about 
him.  When  it  did  intrude  upon  his  meditations 
as  he  sent  an  occasional  glance  over  the  bleak 
stubble,  it  brought  something  withering,  almost  of 
hate,  into  his  darkened  countenance.  Everywhere 
he  looked  it  spoke  of  death.  The  trees  were  al- 
most bare.  His  senses  sickened  at  the  sight  of 
ruined  castles  and  abbeys,  and  the  crowded  ceme- 
teries, glimpsed  through  the  thinning  foliage,  peo- 
pled the  very  earth  beneath  his  feet  with  continual 
reminders  of  bygone  lives.  A  passionate  excla- 
mation broke  from  his  lips,  "  Oh,  for  the  breath 
of  that  dear  land  where  the  axe  rings  in  virgin 
forest  and  the  plough  rips  up  the  primeval  ocean 
bed!" 

201 


202  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

A  look  of  fresh  interest  sprang  up  in  his  jaded 
countenance  at  sight  of  a  low,  rambling  building 
which  a  turn  in  the  path  revealed.  He  was  puz- 
zled to  make  it  out  as  he  drew  nearer.  It  was 
not  large  enough  for  a  manor-house;  and  yet 
something  of  dignity  and  importance  gave  assur- 
ance of  its  being  more  than  a  mere  farmhouse. 
He  halted  for  a  moment,  running  his  eye  over 
the  diamond-paned  casements,  the  ivy  that  heav- 
ily draped  the  walls,  and  the  clustered  chimneys 
that  rose  from  the  roof.  A  few  rooks  circled  in 
the  air  above  the  house.  The  tinkle  of  a  sheep- 
bell  sounded  faintly.  Otherwise  there  was  no  sign 
of  life  about.  Instead,  there  was  a  silence  which 
struck  the  attention,  coupled  with  a  closed,  in- 
hospitable look  about  the  whole  place  that  did 
not  promise  a  welcome  to  the  stranger. 

Kent  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  gate,  think- 
ing over  the  odds  and  ends  of  knowledge  which 
he  had  picked  up.  So  this  was  Mariola's  home — 
Saxholm  Grange  he  had  been  told  they  called  the 
place,  and  by  every  sign  they  were  not  peasants 
at  all,  but  some  incalculable  cross  between  the 
peasant  and  the  lord.  His  countenance  bright- 
ened and  his  step  was  lighter  as  he  passed  through 
the  gate  and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  bore  an 
old-fashioned  knocker  of  carved  brass  and  great 
beauty. 

By  good  luck  Mariola  opened  the  door  and,  with 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  LIGHT        203 

her  friendliest  smile,  invited  him  to  enter.  He 
stepped  into  a  large  hall.  Its  size  was  somewhat 
unexpected.  It  was  dark,  even  gloomy,  but  he 
received  an  impression  of  stateliness,  as  if  some- 
thing noble  had  been  masked.  This  impression 
contrasted  oddly  with  something  of  the  ascetic's 
scorn  that  nowhere  left  tangible  marks,  and  yet 
so  dominated  the  apartment  that  one  read  it  like 
a  human  trait.  Although  Kent  had  never  ex- 
changed a  word  with  the  master  of  Saxholm 
Grange,  that  person  stood  revealed.  It  might  al- 
most have  been  an  ancestral  gift,  that  magnetic, 
compelling  force  of  personality. 

He  did  not  have  long  to  receive  and  arrange 
the  impressions  that  crowded  on  him,  for  Mari- 
ola  crossed  the  floor  with  light  steps  and  knocked 
at  a  closed  door.  He  had  only  time  for  fleeting 
glimpses  of  what  looked  like  family  portraits, 
some  rare  furniture  from  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
specimens  of  old  silver  or  pewter,  he  could  not  be 
sure  in  the  gloom  of  the  hall,  when  Mariola 
turned  the  knob,  pushed  in  the  door,  and  beckoned 
him  to  enter.  He  stepped  across  the  threshold. 

If  he  had  been  astonished  before,  he  was  at 
a  loss  to  express  his  feelings  now.  Every  step 
into  this  curious  house  revealed  fresh  and  deeper 
mysteries.  The  man  he  had  known  as  Mariola's 
father  wore  the  garb  of  a  common  laborer;  and 
yet,  as  Kent  remembered,  that  scorn  of  the  out- 


204  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

ward  shapes  of  circumstance  which  was  so  clear 
and  strong  a  note  of  the  daily  living  here.  This 
room  was  the  home  of  a  scholar,  of  one  possessed 
of  liberal  culture  and  a  vital  knowledge  of  the 
deep  things  of  the  soul.  A  long  room,  lined  on  all 
sides  with  bookcases,  which  reached  the  ceiling  at 
one  end.  There  were  pictures  and  bronzes  and 
marbles.  Over  the  mantel  hung  a  Romney  por- 
trait, a  bewildering  beauty,  all  pink  and  pearl. 
And  yet  there  was  nothing  lavish,  everything  had 
been  placed  with  a  sparing  hand,  ringing  an  end- 
less change  upon  the  manner  of  this  peasant-lord 
which  had  so  baffled  Kent  before. 

But  there  was  an  occupant  of  the  room  to  whom 
Kent  was  obliged  to  pay  his  devoir.  A  stately 
person,  to  whom  Mariola  presented  him.  "  My 
grandmother,  Mme.  Barotti,"  she  said,  with  a  shy 
smile,  and  quietly  left  the  room. 

Mme.  Barotti  was  dressed  quite  simply  in  black, 
her  white  hair  neatly  folded  under  a  lace  cap. 
Her  manner  was  full  of  English  reserve,  but  Kent 
observed  she  had  Mariola's  friendliness.  He  sur- 
mised that  she  might  not  be  unwilling  to  further 
his  ends.  She  invited  him  very  civilly  to  a  seat, 
and  then  bent  to  her  work,  some  homely  knitting, 
a  pair  of  great  mittens. 

Kent  was  at  a  loss.  It  was  one  thing  to  re- 
solve upon  this  visit;  it  was  quite  another  to 
extract  useful  information  from  the  very  collected 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  LIGHT        205 

person  opposite,  clicking  her  needles  in  great 
composure  and  who,  for  all  Kent  knew,  might 
preserve  that  placid  silence  the  rest  of  the  morn- 
ing. He  racked  his  brain,  but  every  idea  was 
dismissed  as  fast  as  it  came.  He  watched  the 
needles  for  what  seemed  an  endless  time  ;then  some- 
thing above  invited  his  attention.  He  looked  up, 
and  rose  from  his  chair  with  a  startled  exclama- 
tion. Mme.  Barotti  regarded  him  in  slight  sur- 
prise. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but " — Kent  was  staring 
at  a  picture  hanging  on  the  wall — "  is  that  a 
portrait?  " 

Mme.  Barotti  followed  his  eyes  to  the  pic- 
ture, a  grim-faced  man  of  middle  age.  His  hair 
was  turning  white. 

"  It  is  one  of  our  ancestors,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  fire  in  Kent's  face  leaped  into  a  blaze. 

"  When  did  he  live  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly.  No 
answer  was  returned.  He  looked  hastily  at  Mme. 
Barotti.  She  was  regarding  him  with  gentle  dis- 
dain, a  spark  of  anger  in  it. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Kent.  "  It  was  sur- 
prise that  made  me  rude."  He  waited. 

"  He  lived  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,"  said  the 
gentlewoman's  voice.  "  He  was  one  of  the  notable 
men  of  the  Reformation." 

"A  Protestant?" 

Mme.  Barotti  inclined  her  head.     She  dropped 


206  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

her  eyes  and  fell  to  knitting  again.  The  furtive 
glance  she  occasionally  directed  at  Kent  betrayed 
some  inward  disquiet.  Kent  looked  again  at  the 
portrait.  A  Protestant,  and  the  Templar  to  whom 
he  bore  so  strong  a  likeness  was  a  devout  Catho- 
lic. The  same  fanatical  temper  burned  furiously 
in  both. 

There  was  something  deeper  still  in  the  mind 
of  the  woman  opposite,  of  which  Kent  caught  but 
a  gleam.  There  was  something  behind  her  trem- 
bling silence, — an  appeal  to  the  human  current 
flowing  beyond  her  reach.  So  far  Kent  could 
read.  His  hopes  were  running  high.  He  con- 
tinued to  regard  the  picture. 

"  If  you  had  not  told  me  that  it  was  a  portrait 
of  your  ancestor,  I  should  have  thought  it  was 
one  of  Mr.  Aveling's." 

Now  he  had  snapped  her  cool  reserve.  She 
dropped  her  work,  with  a  string  of  startled  Italian, 
as  if,  under  the  pressure  of  emotion,  she  had  lapsed 
into  a  more  familiar  tongue  than  her  precise  Eng- 
lish. Kent  did  not  speak.  After  an  interval  she 
gathered  up  her  knitting,  but  her  old  hands  trem- 
bled like  leaves  in  the  wind. 

"  That  was  why  I  asked  you  when  he  lived," 
went  on  Kent. 

"  And  when  did  this — this  ancestor  of  Mr. 
Aveling  live  ?  "  she  asked.  Her  features  worked 
excitedly. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  LIGHT        207 

"  He  lived  in  the  twelfth  century." 

This  piece  of  information  completed  Mme. 
Barotti's  undoing.  She  clasped  her  hands  to- 
gether and  bent  her  head.  Kent  saw  a  tear  roll 
down  and  fall  upon  her  work.  He  rose  to  his 
feet. 

"  Don't  go !  "  She  raised  an  imploring  face  and 
motioned  him  to  his  seat.  "  Forgive  the  tremors 
of  an  old  woman.  These  agitations  are  only  for 
the  young."  She  brushed  away  the  tears  that 
glistened  on  her  soft,  old  cheeks,  and  then  turned 
to  him.  He  became  aware  that  some  barrier  be- 
tween them  had  melted. 

"  There  is  some  mysterious  tie  between  Mr. 
Aveling's  house  and  mine  that  has  cast  a  gloom 
upon  us  these  many  centuries,"  she  began. 

"  Centuries !  "  echoed  Kent. 

"  The  Grange  can  boast  a  line  almost  as  long 
as  Roxmoor,"  she  said  proudly. 

"  Forgive  me — I  did  not  know.  I  was  only 
wondering  at  the  strength  of  this  tie,  which  could 
endure  so  long  and  not  snap,"  he  said  enig- 
matically. He  lifted  a  glowing  countenance  to 
the  old  one  regarding  him  in  curious  quiet. 

"  Mr.  Aveling  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  he 
said,  in  a  thrilled  voice.  "  His  life,  we  believe, 
is  in  danger  and  we  are  trying  to  save  it,  if  we 
can." 

"  My  daughter's  husband  is  not  friendly  to  the 


208  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Avelings,"  she  said,  with  a  sharp  withdrawal  from 
the  co-operation  he  seemed  to  ask. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  Mr.  Aveling  is  most  anx- 
ious— is  impelled  to  serve  your  grandchild  and 
her  father." 

The  forces  friendly  to  his  cause  which  were  at 
work  within  broke  down  the  last  defence.  Mme. 
Barotti  dropped  her  eyes  and  seemed  to  think. 
Then  she  raised  them  full  upon  Kent. 

"  I  feel  some  strong  compulsion  to  confide  in 
you.  Will  you  swear  to  use  the  information  I 
shall  give  you  to  serve  us — and  Mr.  Aveling's 
extremity  ?  " 

"  Gladly." 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair.  When  she  again 
looked  at  Kent  something  like  a  dim  hope  shone 
in  her  face.  "  It  is  our  century-old  sorrow  that 
I  am  about  to  tell  you.  It  has  shut  us  away  from 
human  contact  in  a  chill  and  solitary  separation, 
and  somehow  we  must  break  its  power." 

The  note  of  passion  that  rang  through  her 
last  words  came  with  startling  force  from  the 
delicate,  old  lips  through  which  it  sounded.  She 
began  her  story  in  a  low,  clear  voice: 

"  Mr.  Aveling's  ancestor  of  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury was  pleased,  for  some  reason,  to  shower 
benefits  upon  our  ancestor  of  the  same  period. 
Saxholm  Grange  itself  is  a  gift  from  him,  and 
we  have  the  tradition  of  numerous  benefactions. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  LIGHT       209 

There  was  a  fitting  sense  of  gratitude  preserved 
within  the  family  for  two  centuries.  Then  a 
younger  son  of  the  house  was  seized  with  a  sort 
of  mania  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  to  Roxmoor. 
He  conceived  a  violent  dislike  for  the  place  and 
its  people  and  endeavored,  by  every  means,  to 
inoculate  the  family  with  his  pestilent  hate.  Fail- 
ing in  this,  he  left  home  in  a  fury  and  was  never 
heard  from  again. 

"  The  family,  meanwhile,  lived  on  in  the  Grange, 
but  a  coolness  grew  up  between  the  two  houses, 
the  result,  in  part,  of  capricious  treatment  by  the 
Roxmoor  family.  Now  they  showered  attentions ; 
again  they  passed  our  people  with  blank  faces. 
These  hostilities  have  continued,  with  few  inter- 
ruptions, to  the  present  time. 

"  My  husband  died  young,  and  I  took  my 
daughter,  our  only  child,  to  the  Continent  to  fin- 
ish her  education.  She  met  there  a  young  man 
of  fine  Italian  family,  but  saturated  with  so- 
cialist tendencies.  They  were  married,  and  we 
returned  to  England.  In  the  course  of  the  fol- 
lowing year  my  daughter's  husband  was  found 
to  be  descended  from  the  missing  son  of  our  house, 
so  they  are  of  the  same  blood.  My  daughter  and 
I  were  inclined  to  be  friendly  with  the  Avelings, 
but  her  husband  still  cherishes  the  ancient  grudge. 
And  there  my  sorrow  lies.  For  to  me  the  past  is 
buried  with  its  misunderstandings,  but  Barotti 


210  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

still  draws  us  all  into  his  gloom  and  solitude. 
Roxmoor  has  some  fascination  for  Mariola,  and 
her  father  is  in  torment  when  she  is  there,  and 

between  them "  She  paused,  with  a  trembling 

lip,  and,  clasping  both  hands  piteously  together, 
raised  imploring  eyes  to  Kent:  "Do  you  know 
any  reason  for  this  curious  hate  which  animates 
Barotti?  It  makes  him  bitter  and  solitary;  and 
yet  I  believe  he  cannot  tell  any  more  than  you 
or  I  why  he  hates." 

Kent's  face  was  keen  with  thought. 

"  Do  you  know  any  reason  for  the  extraor- 
dinary interest  in  your  family  shown  by  the  Lord 
Aveling?  " 

"  No.     There  is  no  reason." 

"  Then,  Mme.  Barotti,  when  we  find  that,  we 
have  the  key  which  unlocks  the  riddle." 

"  Do  not  the  records  tell  anything?  "  she  asked, 
in  perplexity. 

"  That  is  what  I  mean  to  find  out.  Mr.  Bate- 
son,  the  family  lawyer,  will  have  any  available 
information." 

Before  she  could  speak  again,  the  door  was 
flung  open  and  Mme.  Barotti,  with  a  shrinking, 
timid  manner,  presented  Kent  to  the  man  who  en- 
tered, Mariola's  father.  It  was  an  intensely  dra- 
matic moment  for  them  all,  for  the  master  of  the 
Grange  admitted  few  visitors,  and  Kent  read  that 
closer  drawn  doors  followed  each  invasion.  From 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  LIGHT 

Mme.  Barotti's  hurried  and  broken  words  he  had 
gathered  that  the  exclusive  life  at  the  Grange  was 
becoming  hermit-like  and  that  the  Madame's 
friendly  soul  craved  the  solace  of  congenial 
friends.  Kent  regarded  Barotti  closely.  Be- 
hind the  man's  hauteur  there  was  something  which 
Kent  was  puzzled  to  make  out,  something  that 
belied  his  chilly  manner,  as  if,  after  all,  it  was  his 
nature  to  be  friendly.  Kent  decided  to  test  him. 

"  Mr.  Barotti,  the  necessity  of  a  friend  in  great 
danger  was  the  cause  of  my  visit  here  this  morn- 
ing. That  same  necessity  may  lead  me  to  ask 
an  interview  within  a  few  days.  Should  that  oc- 
casion arise,  may  I  ask  this  indulgence?  It  is  for 
Mr.  Aveling." 

Mr.  Barotti's  gloomy  visage  did  not  change  ex- 
pression as  he  spoke. 

"  I  know  of  no  service  which  I  can  render  Mr. 
Aveling,"  he  said  harshly. 

"  There  may  be  a  service  within  your  power — 
the  saving  of  a  human  life." 

Barotti's  eyes  flashed  as  they  met  Kent's.  He 
gravely  inclined  his  head,  with  the  attitude  of 
bending  to  a  yoke. 

"  I  would  be  little  of  a  man,"  he  said,  in  a 
heavy,  musical  voice,  "  if  I  failed  to  meet  the  hu- 
man claim.  Command  me  at  your  leisure." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    CORE    OF    THE    SECEET 

KENT  hurried  through  London's  chill  streets 
the  next  morning  at  an  early  hour.  The  sky  was 
dark  and  lowering  and  the  air  was  very  cold. 
Rain  fell  in  a  fine  drizzle  and  the  wind  blew  in 
angry  gusts.  A  heavy  fog  blotted  out  the  build- 
ings. The  passing  crowd  was  like  a  parade  of 
ghosts.  Even  the  noise  of  the  crowded  streets 
came  muffled.  Kent  shivered  with  more  than  cold, 
for  on  such  a  day  the  phantom  that  dogged  his 
steps  seemed  more  alive  than  the  unreal  forms 
about  him  which  the  fog  spirited  away  into  a 
world  of  dreams.  The  tragic  sense  of  an  irrev- 
ocable past,  of  the  living  force  and  power  of 
experience  which  exhales  from  bygone  lives  like 
a  tangible  thing,  was  more  forcible  than  ever  in 
this  vast  city,  standing  since  the  Caesars.  The 
life  of  the  spirit  remained  immortal  among  time's 
mutations. 

Kent  hurried  faster,  turning   at   last  into   an 

arched  doorway.     He  climbed  several  dingy  flights 

of  stairs,  searching  until  he  found  the  name  he 

wanted.     He  was  presently  ushered  into  the  pri- 

212 


THE  CORE  OF  THE  SECRET       213 

vate  office  of  Mr.  Bateson,  who  rose  to  meet  him 
with  an  anxious,  solemn  countenance. 

"  No, — nothing  has  happened,"  said  Kent,  in 
answer  to  his  look.  "  But  I  am  anxious  to  make 
something  happen.  Have  you  a  little  time  for 
me?  " 

Mr.  Bateson  bowed  with  his  grand  air,  never 
forgetting  his  dignity  as  the  adviser  of  a  great 
and  important  family. 

"  I  always  have  time  for  Mr.  Aveling's  affairs. 
I  judge  that  you  wish  to  consult  me  about  them." 
He  motioned  Kent  to  a  seat. 

Kent  drew  his  chair  to  a  table.  Mr.  Bateson 
took  a  seat  opposite  and  dryly  watched  pro- 
ceedings. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bateson,  do  you  happen  to  know  a 
worthy  gentleman  named  Barotti,  owner  of  Sax- 
holm  Grange  ?  " 

Mr.  Bateson  bowed. 

"  Do  you  happen,  also,  to  know  that  gentle- 
man's family  history  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

Kent  directed  a  keen  glance  at  him.  Mr.  Bate- 
son maintained  his  judicial  dignity. 

"  Yesterday  I  had  an  opportunity  to  learn  that 
history,"  Kent  went  on.  "  Very  interesting  it 
was." 

"  As  you  say,  very  interesting,"  softly  echoed 
Mr.  Bateson. 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

At  this  point  Kent  experienced  some  annoy- 
ance. He  felt  that  it  was  not  quite  pleas- 
ant to  find  such  entire  agreement,  and  began 
afresh. 

"  I  have  only  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Aveling's  ancestral  history,  of  which  we  have  had 
some  discussion  before.  It  would  now  be  of  great 
use  to  improve  that  acquaintance.  I  daresay  you 
could  supply  me  with  the  means." 

Mr.  Bateson  softly  rubbed  his  hands  together. 

"  You  are  aware  of  the  book  which  I  have  in 
preparation  concerning  Roxmoor,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  show  you  what  I  have  already  written  and 
give  you  the  original  papers  which  I  used."  He 
rose  and  went  to  a  safe,  which  he  unlocked  and 
drew  out  a  mass  of  papers,  depositing  them  upon 
the  table.  Some  of  them  were  yellow  and  stained 
and  the  writing  nearly  lost. 

"  These  are  the  records  of  Roxmoor's  past," 
he  said  solemnly. 

"  Are  they  originals  ?  "  asked  Kent,  as  he  saw 
the  ancient  dates. 

"  Some  of  the  originals  are  only  fragments. 
But  their  contents  have  been  preserved  with  great 
care,  for  the  Avelings  have  cherished  their  heri- 
tage. Many  of  these  are  copies,  renewed  from 
time  to  time." 

Kent  was  eagerly  running  them  over.     "  What 


THE  CORE  OF  THE  SECRET       215 

shall  I  do  ?  "  he  asked.  "  May  I  take  them  up 
to  Roxmoor?  " 

Mr.  Bateson's  manner  became  magnificent. 

"  I  should  not  feel  justified  in  allowing  papers 
so  valuable  out  of  my  possession.  But  the  room 
is  sufficiently  commodious,"  with  an  impressive 
wave  of  the  hand.  "  I  can  promise  you  freedom 
from  interruption "  He  paused. 

Kent  touched  the  papers  with  his  hand.  "  It 
will  take  hours?"  he  said.  "  You  will  be  incon- 
venienced." 

Mr.  Bateson  bowed  with  just  the  right  min- 
gling of  dignity  and  humility : 

"  It  is  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Aveling !  " 

It  was  hours  before  Kent  had  the  main  lines 
of  the  story  in  shape,  torn  from  old  records  of 
birth  and  death,  and  from  letters  and  journals, 
written  in  unintelligible  English.  But  the  result 
was  full  of  illuminating  thought. 

The  Aveling  family  was  one  of  consequence 
when  William  the  Conqueror  invaded  England.  In 
the  upheaval  that  followed  the  Battle  of  Hast- 
ings they  fled  to  Italy,  the  family  estates  falling 
into  the  hands  of  the  Norman  nobles.  There 
were  some  confused  traditions  here  of  attempts  to 
regain  the  estates,  but  nothing  authentic,  until 
the  growing  opulence  of  the  family  gave  hopes  of 


216  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

ultimate  return  to  their  native  land.  The  Cru- 
sades had  given  a  tremendous  impulse  to  com- 
merce, and  the  Avelings  grew  rich  in  the  trade 
that  whitened  the  Mediterranean. 

Thus  fortified,  the  head  of  the  family  attached 
himself  to  the  train  of  Henry  Plantagenet,  then 
in  France.  His  ascent  to  the  throne  restored  the 
Aveling  estates,  and  they  returned  to  England. 

But  long  residence  in  Italy  had  wrought  a 
subtle  change  in  the  blood,  so  that  English  ways 
and  airs  were  irksome  to  their  languorous  temper. 
Much  time  was  passed  in  Italy,  and  an  Italian 
bride  was  brought  to  the  manor.  The  rooms  in 
the  so-called  "  Italian  Wing "  were  hers,  trans- 
formed to  give  her  the  semblance  of  the  Italy  for 
which  she  pined. 

There  was  only  one  surviving  child  when  this 
pair  died.  The  age  was  rude.  Sickness  and  bat- 
tle left  only  one,  a  late-comer  in  the  home  when 
the  rest  were  grown.  This  was  a  daughter,  a 
young,  tender  thing,  who  married  early.  Her  hus- 
band was  slain  in  battle  six  months  before  their 
son  was  born.  It  appeared  to  be  a  marriage 
merely  of  convenience,  and  soon  after  the  birth 
of  her  child  she  fell  in  love  with  a  nobleman  at 
the  court,  who  hastened  the  nuptials,  the  rude 
manners  of  the  time  putting  no  obstacle  to  his 
plans, — a  strange,  dominating  personality,  who 
sprang  up  unknown  in  Henry's  court.  His  wife 


THE  CORE  OF  THE  SECRET       217 

fell  completely  under  his  influence,  so  that  he  was, 
in  effect,  the  lord  of  the  manor.  Within  a  year 
she  presented  him  with  a  son,  dying  at  his  birth, 
leaving  thus  her  true  successor,  the  son  by  the 
first  marriage,  in  his  power.  According  to  her 
will,  her  husband  was  to  enjoy  the  rights  and 
place  of  the  Lord  Aveling  during  his  lifetime, 
when  the  estate  would  pass  to  the  oldest  son  by 
right  of  entail.  This  was  a  privilege  of  the  reigning 
heir,  sanctioned  by  ancient  custom  in  the  fam- 
ily, but  long  since  fallen  into  disuse.  Lady  Avel- 
ing, it  would  appear,  revived  this  law,  her  hus- 
band assumed  the  position  of  the  heir,  and,  with 
this  power  in  his  grasp,  rose  to  a  commanding 
place  in  the  English  court. 

It  was  an  age  of  change — of  ruptured  tradi- 
tions— of  movement  from  a  simple  to  a  complex, 
national  life.  At  a  time  when  Henry  was  cur- 
tailing the  strength  of  the  feudal  lords  he  took 
much  pleasure  in  this  powerful  figure  among  the 
lesser  nobles.  The  legality  of  the  will  by  which 
this  desirable  leader  became  the  Lord  Aveling  did 
not  concern  Henry;  but  the  brilliant  service  he 
rendered  the  king  did.  Step  by  step  he  rose  in 
the  English  court,  always  master  of  himself  and 
the  shrewdest  strategy  which  saw  far  into  the  fu- 
ture,— a  strategy  too  profound  for  unalloyed 
self-seeking. 

Presently  it  appeared  that  the  Lord  Aveling 


218  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

had  been  summoned  to  Italy  on  some  important 
mission.  When  he  returned,  it  was  with  lamenta- 
tions and  mourning  robes.  His  elder  son,  he  said, 
had  died  suddenly  in  Italy  of  a  fever.  A  small 
coffin  was  placed  with  due  honors  in  the  family 
tomb  and  a  period  of  mourning  observed. 

There  commenced  here  to  creep  evidences  of  a 
disturbed  and  anxious  mind  into  the  ancient  rec- 
ords. By  the  time  his  son  had  reached  his  ma- 
jority the  old  lord  was  a  changed  man.  Another 
journey  to  Italy  was  undertaken,  and  when  they 
returned  they  brought  a  new  servant,  a  young 
Italian,  who  had  already  become  a  favorite  with 
his  master.  It  appeared  the  young  man  had  left 
his  heart  in  his  native  country ;  so  the  Lord  Avel- 
ing  sent  for  the  girl  to  come  to  England,  for  he 
would  not  hear  of  the  young  man's  absence.  At 
the  wedding  they  were  nearly  buried  under  a 
weight  of  gifts,  among  which  were  a  house  and 
an  annuity;  and  with  this  beginning  the  peasant 
family  acquired  a  permanence  which  ran  steadily 
through  the  records.  Some  indestructible  tie 
bound  their  fate  together. 

Now  followed  a  period  of  still  greater  dis- 
quiet in  the  old  lord.  None  of  his  honors  could 
satisfy  the  tormented  man,  bending  on  his  knees 
until  the  cold  gray  of  dawn  in  supplication  to  the 
spirit  of  his  dead  wife.  He  feared  to  approach 
himself  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  and  directed  his 


THE  CORE  OF  THE  SECRET       219 

prayers  to  that  gentle  mediator.  But  now  he  saw 
another  hope,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  petition.  The 
flames  of  the  Crusades  lighted  every  corner  of 
Europe.  The  troubled  man  resolved  to  make  the 
pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  City  and  secure  the  bless- 
ing promised. 

It  was  then  thought  a  most  pious  act  to  visit 
the  burial-place  of  saints  and  martyrs ;  and  that 
prayers  and  tears  of  penitence,  offered  upon  con- 
secrated ground,  could  cleanse  the  blackest  soul. 
So  the  Lord  Aveling  was  escorted  out  of  his  coun- 
try by  a  great  band  of  friends,  carrying  the  gifts, 
a  staff  and  wallet,  and  the  priest's  benediction 
upon  his  holy  enterprise. 

He  travelled  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  prayed 
upon  every  sacred  spot  which  tradition  had  pre- 
served; bathed  in  the  holy  waters  of  Jordan,  and 
brought  the  palm-branch  to  lay  upon  the  altar 
of  the  manor-chapel.  He  joined  the  Knight  Tem- 
plars and  endowed  inns  and  hospitals  on  the  way 
to  Jerusalem,  erecting  shrines  and  crosses  where 
the  devout  pilgrim  could  rest  and  pray  and  gain 
the  indulgence  of  Heaven.  For  these  pious  acts 
he  was  held  in  high  esteem,  and  this,  from  his 
journals,  was  his  sharpest  scourge. 

This  was  the  history  from  which  Kent  roused 
himself  as  a  clock,  somewhere,  struck  the  noon 
hour.  He  leaned  forward  and  touched  a  bell.  Mr. 
Bateson  immediately  appeared. 


220  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Bateson,  from  these  rec- 
ords that  a  crime  has  been  committed,"  Kent  be- 
gan. Mr.  Bateson's  expression  was  so  bland  and 
self-possessed  that  he  paused. 

"  Exactly,"  murmured  excellent  Mr.  Bateson. 

"  A  crime  against  an  ancestor  of  the  Barotti 
family,"  said  Kent. 

"  My  own  conclusion,"  purred  Mr.  Bateson. 
He  stood  with  one  hand  behind  his  back,  the  other 
held  his  eyeglasses.  His  head  was  inclined  slightly 
forward,  his  eyes  were  dropped.  He  looked  the 
ideal  repository  of  family  secrets. 

Kent  stared  at  him  for  a  brief  space. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Bateson,  was  this  knowledge  not 
used  before  ?  "  he  asked  sternly. 

"What  could  it  do?"  enquired  the  cool  voice. 

"  Why  was  it  not  used  to  solve  the  mystery  ?  " 
Kent  persisted,  irritably  rattling  the  papers  upon 
the  table. 

"  How  could  it  be  used?  "  said  Bateson  softly. 
"  The  old  lord  gained  the  inheritance  by  fraudu- 
lent means,  perhaps ;  but  how  ? — and  who  was  de- 
frauded? There  are  no  papers — you  see  the  diffi- 
culty. Reasonable  men  must  have  proofs.  The 
estate  is  large — and  important."  There  was  the 
faintest  smile  about  his  thin  lips.  "  We  could 
not  counsel  Mr.  Aveling  to  turn  over  his  in- 
heritance to  the  Barottis,"  he  remarked,  in  a 
deprecating  voice.  "  That  would  be  fantastic." 


THE  CORE  OF  THE  SECRET 

Kent's  ire  cooled  to  the  working-point.  The 
wrong  which  had  been  done  was  clear  enough  to 
probable  conjecture;  but  it  was  not  susceptible 
of  proof.  And,  if  it  could  not  be  defined  in  legal 
terms,  he  could  not  put  it  in  vital  touch  with  the 
ban  upon  wretched  Aveling;  and,  so  far  as  his 
safety  was  concerned,  the  secret  might  have  as 
well  have  remained  unknown.  The  real  core  of 
the  problem  revealed  itself  with  such  sudden  force 
that  he  longed  to  tear  the  papers  before  him  into 
shapeless  fragments,  from  mere  desire  to  exert  his 
strength  upon  something.  He  wiped  the  moisture 
from  his  brow  and  fell  to  gathering  up  the  copious 
extracts  he  had  made. 

"  Let  us  hope,  Mr.  Kent,  that  the  present  at- 
tempts will  be  more  successful." 

Kent  sprang  up  at  the  sound  of  the  cool,  mock- 
ing voice,  and,  with  a  few  brief  words,  quitted  the 
room. 

"  It  is  a  marvel  how  like  a  schoolboy  my  friend 
Bateson  can  make  a  grown  man  feel,"  he  said, 
between  his  teeth. 


THE    ONLY    WAY 

ROXMOOR  looked  more  repellent  than  ever  to 
Kent  as  he  approached  that  evening.  It  was 
nearly  dark  when  he  arrived  and  only  the  tow- 
ers and  battlements  were  visible;  the  lights  in  the 
windows  glared  like  evil  eyes.  Mrs.  Aveling 
sprang  up  as  he  came  in ;  she  had  been  weeping. 

"  Come,  quick,"  she  said,  catching  up  a  candle 
as  she  sped  across  the  hall. 

Kent  followed  her  rapid  pace.  She  passed 
swiftly  on  to  the  older  portion  of  the  house. 
When  they  reached  the  secret  panel  she  paused 
a  moment,  with  her  hand  upon  the  spring. 

"  He  has  been  in  the  old  library  since  last  night. 
We  cannot  persuade  him  to  move."  There  was 
an  expression  upon  her  face  that  drew  a  question 
from  Kent. 

"Why  did  he  go  there?" 

Her  face  quivered,  but  she  mastered  her- 
self with  an  effort. 

"  He  had  been  thinking — had  been  very  quiet, 
and  suddenly  he  rose  from  his  seat,  the  glitter 

of  a  horrible  resolution  in  his  face "  She  fal- 

222 


THE  ONLY  WAY  223 

tered  and  then  went  on :  "  His  smile  was  dreadful 
to  see  as  he  spoke :  '  I  am  going  for  it,  Aline. 

Tell  Kent.  I  am  going '  And  he  sprang  out 

of  the  room  before  I  could  move."  She  stood 
with  a  pitiful,  quivering  look. 

Kent  could  not  meet  her  eyes.  What  struggle 
might  issue,  he  did  not  know,  but  Aveling  had 
dared  the  final  test.  While  Kent  faced  with  unbe- 
lievable horror  the  elements  which  disclosed  the 
only  sure  way,  Aveling  had  taken  the  plunge — 
and  alone! 

A  shiver  ran  through  Mrs.  Aveling  as  her  worst 
fears  received  confirmation  in  Kent's  averted  gaze. 
She  pressed  the  spring  upon  which  her  hand 
rested,  the  panel  slid  open,  and  she  stepped 
through. 

When  they  entered  the  library  Kent  could,  at 
first,  make  nothing  out  in  the  gloom.  Then  he  saw 
the  glow  of  a  lamp  in  the  distance.  As  he  drew 
nearer  he  could  see  Aveling  seated  in  a  chair,  the 
whole  man  expressive  of  one  in  mental  and  moral 
abandon.  His  countenance  was  vacant,  his  eyes 
rolled  wildly.  As  Kent  approached  he  shivered 
slightly.  Kent  laid  his  hand  upon  the  nerveless 
arm  that  was  nearest.  Aveling  looked  up,  with  a 
wavering  response :  "  Well,  friend,  thou  hast  been 
long  upon  thy  journey.  Mayhap,  Roxmoor  is 
dull  to  thee." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  struggle,  as  if  the  old 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

memories  and  habit  overlaid  and  mingled  with  the 
new.  Kent  waited  a  moment;  Aveling's  expres- 
sion was  brightening,  his  eye  wavered  less.  Then 
Kent  spoke: 

"  Come,  Ned, — come  with  me." 

Aveling  rose  at  once.  He  leaned  heavily  on 
Kent's  arm  as  he  was  led  back  through  the  cor- 
ridors to  his  room.  They  persuaded  him  to  take 
a  little  nourishment,  and  then  he  fell  asleep.  Kent 
beckoned  Mrs.  Aveling  out  of  the  room. 

"  Do  you  realize  how  ill  you  are?  "  he  sternly 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  wearily  replied.  "  You 
were  not  here,  and  I  could  not  leave  him." 

"  I'll  have  no  occasion  to  leave  again,"  he  said. 
"  But  to-night  you  are  going  to  have  some  rest. 
You  have  had  none  since  I  left." 

"  I  won't  leave  Ned,"  she  said  sharply. 

"  Mrs.  Aveling,  I  shall  have  to  think  for  you 
in  Ned's  place,"  he  said,  in  a  firm,  clear  voice. 
"  And  you  are  going  to  rest  to-night,  for  Mary 
Endicott  and  Lady  Melton  are  coming  to  stay 
with  you.  And  you  will  go  to  the  other  end  of 
the  house  and  sleep, — if  we  have  to  drag  you  there 
and  tie  you  down." 

Looking  into  his  resolute  face,  she  knew  that 
he  would  do  it.  "  Won't  you  even  let  me  share 
his  last  few  hours  ?  "  she  pitifully  asked. 

"Yes,    when   they    come,"    he    said    solemnly. 


THE  ONLY  WAY  225 

"  But  they  will  not  be  here,  please  God,  for  many 
a  year." 

She  sprang  forward,  eagerly  clutching  his 
arm: 

"  You  know  something  more.  You  have  heard 
something.  Oh,  don't  keep  it  away  from  me ! " 

"  Mrs.  Aveling,  I  know  nothing  more  than  you 
do.  I  have  gained  a  little  further  knowledge  of 
Roxmoor's  history,  and  that  is  positively  all." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  offer  me  this  empty  hope  ?  " 
she  wailed. 

"  Because  it  is  not  empty.  Three  days  ago  I 
asked  you  to  pray  to  all  your  gods." 

"  I  did — to  the  one  good  God  I  never  doubt, 
even  in  all  this  strange  trial." 

Kent  started.  "  That  was  what  Ned  said,"  he 
exclaimed,  in  wonder.  "  When  that  mysterious 
face  in  the  gravestone  was  revealed  to  me,  he  said, 
as  if  in  answer  to  what  I  said  to  you,  the  utter 
despair  I  felt,  '  Never  doubt  that  the  good  God 
sent  you  here.'  And,  although  I  know  no  more, 
and  see  little  further  into  the  darkness,  I  hope, 
with  some  strange  assurance,  that  all  will  yet  go 
well  with  Ned." 

Mrs.  Aveling  burst  into  a  torrent  of  relieving 
tears,  and  Kent  led  her  away,  returning  after- 
ward to  his  vigil  in  Aveling*s  room.  If  Aveling 
were  himself  when  morning  came,  he  meant  to  lay 
the  matter  before  him.  But  he  set  his  teeth 


226  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

against  the  torment  of  a  horrible  foreboding. 
Suppose  that  Aveling,  in  his  own  person,  should 
never  again  emerge  from  that  oblivion  where  he 
had  plunged! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE    FINAL    PLUNGE 

AVELING  slept  soundly  all  night  long,  and  woke 
quiet  and  refreshed  and  in  entire  possession  of 
himself.  After  breakfast  he  asked  for  an  inter- 
view with  Kent,  and  they  were  left  alone  together. 
Aveling  began  at  once  to  speak. 

"  The  time  has  come,  Kent,  to  make  the  last 
throw,"  he  said,  with  solemn  earnestness. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  Kent  replied, 
"  but  I  earnestly  urge  you  not  to  act  in  haste. 
Your  reserves  are  small  and  we  need  time." 

"  There  is  no  time  left,  Kent.  It  will  all  be 
over,  whether  for  good  or  ill,  in  three  days." 

Kent  glanced  quickly  at  him.  Their  secrecy 
had  not  deceived  him.  Aveling  went  on : 

"  Caution  is  useless  now.  I  have  only  one 
chance,  and  the  sooner  I  take  it  the  better.  But 
I  want  to  tell  you  first  that  it  has  been  through 
your  untiring  service  that  I  have  gained  the  in- 
sight and  the  courage  to  take  the  final  plunge." 

"The  final  plunge?" 

"  Yes,  I  must  give  up  myself  and  soul  to  that 
horrible  clamor." 

227 


228  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  But  you  have  done  that,"  said  Kent,  wonder- 
ing what  he  meant. 

Aveling  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Kent,  I  have 
never  been  quite  frank  with  you,  for,  when  the 
soul  lingers  on  the  borders  of  extinction,  it 
answers  but  two  instincts, — secrecy  and  flight.  I 
could  not  formulate  that  dead  man's  conduct  in 
my  own  person,  and  I  have  never  dared  to  give 
up  my  whole  self  to  what  seems  like  annihilation. 
Kent,  never  in  Stygian  caves  can  greater  black- 
ness yawn  before  the  soul  than  that  awful  choice, 
and  yet  it  lies  before  me,  and  from  it  there  is  no 
escape." 

"  But,  Aveling,"  said  Kent,  appalled  by  the 
man's  terrible  resolution.  "  You  have  tried  this. 
Don't  run  greater  risks.  You  may  be  facing  use- 
less danger." 

"  That  is  where  I  have  not  been  quite  frank. 
The  old  Lord  Aveling  hid  somewhere  the  proofs 
of  another  heir,  and  the  way  to  find  them  is  to 
let  him  possess  my  body  and  reincarnate  that 
guilty  act.  I'd  gladly  give  the  manor  and  its 
holdings  twice  over  to  escape  this  descent  into 
the  shades  of  death.  But  nothing  else  will  right 
the  wrong,  nothing  but  the  surrender  of  myself. 
You  know  how  carefully  we  have  sacked  every 
corner  of  the  manor,  so  this  is  the  only  way. 
And  the  reason  why  that  reincarnation  has  never 
taken  place  is  because,  down  in  the  depths  of  my 


THE  FINAL  PLUNGE  229 

shivering  soul,  I  kept  something  from  surrender. 
All  but  that  small  corner, — body,  voice,  memory, 
mind, — but  the  essence  and  core  of  me  I  did  not 
give.  And  that  is  the  price." 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  Kent  felt  a 
blindness  sweep  over  him,  for  he  knew  that  this 
was  the  way  to  put  Aveling  in  vital  touch  with 
the  secret.  Aveling  began  again,  in  a  musing 
tone: 

"  What  pitiful  stuff  a  human  soul  is  made  of ! 
Last  night  I  resolved  to  make  this  final  test,  and 
left  Aline,  poor  child,  to  endure  the  horror  alone, 
for  I  felt  so  sure  of  my  strength  and  dared  not 
risk  delay.  But  my  resolution  failed,  Kent,  for  I 
needed  you, — you,  to  put  fire  and  whirlwind 
into  my  heart  and  drive  me  into  that  place  of 
demons." 

He  drifted  into  a  period  of  profound  thought, 
from  which  he  roused  himself  with  sudden  vigor: 

"  Kent,  I  am  a  weakling.  He  and  I  may,  after 
all,  be  made  of  the  same  coward  stuff.  With  all 
his  ghastly  penances  he  could  not  take  the  only 
step  that  was  of  any  use.  And  neither  could  I 
in  that  terrible  loneliness.  Except  for  you,  with 
your  resolute  grasp  of  vital  law, — your  splendid 
courage  to  venture  into  forbidden  ways, — I  could 
only  miserably  perish." 

"  You  overrate  what  I  have  done,"  said  Kent 
gently. 


230  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"No,  Kent.  You  always  cleared  my  course 
with  your  wise,  powerful  head  and  your  passion- 
ate justice." 

He  broke  forth  again  after  a  period  of  silent 
musing : 

"  I  must  die — die ! — suffer  the  pangs  of  death, 
— go  into  the  dim  world  of  the  disembodied  and 
become  the  instrument  of  a  dreadful  resurrec- 
tion!" 

His  face  glowed  with  a  baleful  lustre.  The  risk 
of  his  fearful  purpose  was  greater  than  anything 
Kent  had  dreamed.  Kent  blindly  reached  out  and 
grasped  his  arm: 

"  Aveling ! — I  implore  you, — don't  take  that 
awful  risk !  " 

"  I  must — I  have  felt  it  from  the  first, — the 
struggle  was  always  there,  and  now  I  am  resolved 
to  go." 

"  Wait  a  little  longer.  Perhaps  we  can  find  an- 
other way." 

"  Why,  Kent,  I  am  dying,  anyway."  He  held 
up  his  hand,  transparent  as  a  piece  of  alabaster. 
"  Look  at  that.  Every  drop  of  blood  has  been 
drawn  in  the  struggle.  And,  if  I  venture  from 
this  room,  I  will  fall  an  immediate  victim  of  the 
thrall,  and  some  time  it  will  master  me.  But  now, 
through  the  motive  you  have  furnished  me,  there 
is  just  this  chance  to  break  the  curse.  That  dead 
man  wants  something  done,  and,  when  I  get  his 


THE  FINAL  PLUNGE  231 

will  accomplished,  I  may  be  released.  There  is 
no  other  way." 

"  But  think,  Ned.  You  are  handling  things 
you  don't  understand.  Are  you  even  sure  of  what 
you  are  going  for?  " 

"  Yes.  The  Lord  Aveling  hid  somewhere  proof 
that  Barotti  is  the  rightful  heir,  and,  if  I  give  up 
all  my  powers  to  him,  he'll  come  and  find  the 
hidden  papers." 

Kent  spoke  with  slow  and  deep  solemnity  when 
Aveling  finished: 

"  Suppose,  when  this  act  of  restitution  is  ac- 
complished, you  could  not  again  possess  yourself, 
for  you  say  you'll  give  him  complete  dominion. 
Suppose  the  exchange  of  personality  should  be- 
come permanent?  " 

"  I  have  little  fear  of  that" 

"  Think  well,  man.  Would  not  a  second  op- 
portunity seem  doubly  to  be  prized?  Do  you  feel 
so  sure  that  life,  with  a  fresh  trial  of  its  testing, 
would  have  no  charm  for  one  who  failed  on  his 
first  pilgrimage  ?  " 

"  Yes,  by  Heaven,  I  do !  If  ever  a  soul  knew 
the  awfulness  of  remorse,  this  man,  who  has  borne 
the  scourge  for  seven  centuries,  can  have  no  cour- 
age for  fresh  iniquity  or  be  tempted  to  filch  my 
chance  away.  Surely,  Kent,  we  may  give  a  tor- 
tured soul  that  much  charity." 

It  was   the   sweet  brotherliness  which  had  al- 


232  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

ways  made  Aveling  so  beloved.  Kent  looked  at 
the  quiet,  solemn  face,  and  he  seemed  to  see  a  new 
Aveling,  shorn  of  his  mirth,  but  rising  to  meet 
the  responsibilities  of  his  blood  with  the  fortitude 
and  glory  of  the  spiritual  man  which  the  human 
pilgrimage  wrings  from  the  dust.  It  was  the 
chance  of  the  cosmic  process, — bearing  in  blood 
and  tears  the  weight  of  another's  sin  to  keep  the 
eternal  justice  true.  For  Kent  knew  that  Avel- 
ing's  merry  spirits  were  crushed  forever,  that  not 
even  his  elastic  spirits  could  quite  rebound  after 
so  deep  a  descent  into  the  mysteries  of  being.  The 
human  destiny  seemed  doubly  precious  since  its 
dignity  and  worth  might  demand  such  ransom. 

"  Then  you  go  without  fear?  "  asked  Kent. 

"  No,  I  have  a  deadly  and  consuming  fear, — 
that  my  strength  may  fail  me  at  the  crisis  and  I 
may  not  have  the  resolution  to  return.  Then, 
Kent,  my  fate  rests  with  you." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  resumed, 
a  deeper  intensity  of  meaning  in  his  face: 

"  Kent,  did  you  ever  consider  the  significance 
that  may  lie  in  the  lamp  that  burns  beneath  the 
Templar's  portrait  ?  " 

"  No— I  don't  think  I  ever  did,"  Kent  slowly 
replied. 

"  Then,  think  of  this  and  seal  it  with  hope  and 
courage.  The  Templar  placed  that  lamp  beneath 
his  picture  and  left  his  curse  on  any  one  who 


THE  FINAL  PLUNGE  233 

should  neglect  to  keep  it  burning.  Some  time 
that  lamp  went  out,  and  some  time  later  a  curse 
befell  the  manor.  But  no  one  thought  about  the 
lamp  until  I  came  and  re-lit  it." 

Kent  suddenly  raised  an  illuminated  face. 

"  Aveling,  it  must  be  that  you  are  meant  to 
lift  the  curse." 

Aveling  nodded,  a  slight  smile  broke  across  his 
pale  lips.  "  I  believe  that  somewhere  it  is  writ- 
ten that  the  fates  mean  kindly  to  our  race,  purged 
of  its  ancient  sin." 

Kent's  face  kindled. 

"  I  can  let  you  go  now,  Ned,  with  some  cour- 
age. Tell  me  just  what  it  is  that  you  want  me 
to  do." 

"  You  are  to  go  with  me  wherever  I  go  and 
keep  alive  that  sympathy  which  runs  between  us, 
for  with  that  you'll  drag  me  back,  if  a  chance 
remains.  Keep  your  hand  upon  me  and  my  ear 
alive  to  your  voice.  Never  let  that  link  break." 

Kent  waited.     "And  then?" 

Aveling  turned  his  steady  gaze  upon  him,  and 
deep  within  Kent  saw  a  glow  rise. 

"  Then,  Kent,  call, — and,  I  swear  by  Heaven, 
I'll  come!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    MAN    WHO    EEAP8 

AVEIJNG  watched  Kent  quietly,  and  then  said: 
"  Ask  Dr.  Warren  to  come  to  me.  I  am  anxious 
to  begin." 

Without  a  word  Kent  went  out,  and  presently 
returned  with  Dr.  Warren,  to  whom  Aveling 
briefly  told  his  purpose.  The  doctor  merely  nod- 
ded and  held  his  peace.  Aveling's  strength  had 
failed  enormously  over  night.  No  Aveling  had 
ever  survived  the  final  test.  Either  way,  it  mat- 
tered little  in  his  judgment,  and  he  watched  the 
last  preparations  in  silence.  Aveling  gave  some 
directions  to  Kent  in  case  he  did  not  live,  and 
then  shook  hands  quietly  with  Dr.  Warren. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  Mrs.  Aveling?  "  asked 
the  doctor. 

Aveling's  face  quivered,  but  he  turned  a  smile 
of  quiet  confidence  on  Kent.  "  No — I'll  wait,  for 
I  shall  see  her  again,"  he  said,  in  firm,  clear  tones. 
He  and  Kent  went  out  together. 

Apparently,  it  was  not  the  often  repeated 
change  Kent  had  seen  which  was  to  place  Avel- 
ing's self  in  another's  hands.  He  went  quietly. 
234 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS  235 

through  the  house,  looking  at  the  pictured  Tem- 
plar here  and  there,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
Italian  Wing,  for  here  lay  the  vital  memories  of 
the  man.  Aveling  went  through  the  Wing  to  a 
small  oratory  which  opened  off  the  bed-chamber, 
and,  kneeling  before  a  tiny  altar,  gave  himself  up 
to  a  season  of  devotion.  Then  he  rose  and,  step- 
ping backward,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  picture  of 
the  Templar,  lay  there,  silent  and  staring. 

There  was  no  sudden  or  startling  change,  but, 
as  Kent  watched,  one  by  one  the  links  that  held 
Aveling  to  life  snapped  and  he  sank  gradually 
into  a  perfectly  apathetic  state.  Kent  judged  it 
best  to  summon  the  doctor,  and  together  they 
watched  Aveling  slowly  fade  out  of  life.  When 
an  hour  had  passed,  Kent  touched  his  arm  and 
called,  and  Aveling  made  a  slight  response.  Then 
Dr.  Warren  tried,  but  he  did  not  answer.  He 
moved  only  at  Kent's  bidding,  seeming  in  his  deep- 
est apathy  to  retain  obedience  to  Kent's  will. 
Otherwise  he  gave  no  sign  of  life. 

At  noon-day,  Lady  Melton  came  to  beg  that 
Mrs.  Aveling  might  see  her  husband  for  a  mo- 
ment. Some  one  opened  the  door  into  the  ora- 
tory. She  glanced  at  the  lifeless  figure  and  wrung 
her  hands.  Mrs.  Aveling  came  into  the  hallway 
where  they  were,  and  Dr.  Warren  motioned  to  let 
her  pass. 

Only  Kent  was  there  when  she  knelt  by  Avel- 


236  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

ing's  chair.  There  was  nothing  but  the  steady 
rise  and  fall  of  his  breath  to  tell  her  that  he  lived. 
When  she  sobbed  his  name,  and  kissed  and  wept 
upon  his  waxen  hand,  he  made  no  more  response 
than  a  clay  image  might  have  done. 

She  grew  quiet  after  a  while,  and,  rising  to  her 
feet,  withdrew  to  a  corner,  watching  him  in  si- 
lence. Kent  did  not  speak  to  her,  but  presently 
he  saw  the  lonely  figure  slip  quietly  from  the 
room. 

Kent  watched  in  agony  that  deadly  wrestle  of 
soul  with  soul  that  stretched  across  the  centuries, 
laying  low  one  after  another,  until  this  remnant 
of  the  ancient  stock  remained  alone.  The  thing 
seemed  so  near, — the  matter  so  clear  to  reason- 
able thought;  but  it  taxed  his  fortitude  to  see 
Aveling  locked  in  that  death-like  submission  to 
another  will  where  no  one  might  reach  him.  For 
hours  the  trance  held  sway.  More  and  more  he 
came  to  resemble  his  dead  progenitor.  His  pulses 
slowed,  he  grew  more  pallid,  his  breathing  deeper 
and  more  machine-like ;  his  whole  being  more  given 
over  to  the  bidding  of  that  powerful  will.  It 
began  to  wear  the  look  of  doom. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon  Kent  went 
out  upon  the  terrace  for  a  stroll,  to  relieve  the 
tension  of  his  mind.  Night  was  falling  fast  as 
he  gazed  out  upon  the  valley;  the  world  looked 
wild  and  menacing.  The  sky  was  full  of  gray, 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS  237 

scudding  clouds.  On  the  horizon  a  yellow  light 
burned  through,  like  eating  fire.  He  turned  away, 
shivering  slightly,  as  if  the  sullen  clouds  meant 
evil.  He  paced  along  the  stone  pavement.  Some- 
thing overhead  caught  his  eye  and,  as  he  looked 
upward,  a  huge,  black  shape,  like  a  bird  of  prey, 
circled  around  a  jagged  turret.  He  watched  the 
flapping  wings  bear  the  ominous  thing  away,  and 
then,  with  a  muttered  curse  for  his  own  fore- 
bodings, entered  the  house  and  returned  to  the 
Italian  Wing. 

When  he  pushed  open  the  door  into  the  small 
oratory  it  seemed  so  deathly  still  in  there,  as  if 
no  human  breath  were  drawn.  The  very  shadows 
were  stricken  with  a  motionless  rigor.  To  one 
side  of  the  room  Dr.  Warren  watched  with  folded 
arms. 

Aveling  lay  blank  and  silent  as  Kent  ap- 
proached. The  motive  and  power  which  mark 
the  man  had  fled.  He  waited,  as  a  swept  and  gar- 
nished room  might  wait  a  tenant.  He  had  reached 
the  lowest  point  to  which  his  physical  powers 
could  sink  and  yet  return.  His  gaze  was  fixed; 
nothing  moved  behind  the  empty  windows  of  his 
soul.  Kent  peered  into  a  deserted  habitation. 

With  a  stirring  of  anxious  dread,  he  placed 
his  hand  on  Aveling's  arm  and  spoke  to  him. 
There  was  not  the  slightest  answering  thrill  to 
show  that  Aveling  heard.  It  could  not  be  pos- 


238  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

sible  he  would  not  answer,  thought  Kent.  He 
tried  again.  But,  heavily  as  he  pressed  the  nerve- 
less arm  and  loudly  as  he  called,  there  was  not  the 
finest  chord  that  he  could  set  a-quiver.  The  slen- 
der thread  along  which  Aveling's  senses  crept  to 
Kent  had  broken.  There  was  not  a  single  link 
between  them  now. 

A  certainty  of  disaster  seized  Kent.  He  had 
relied  so  steadfastly  upon  the  holding  of  that  tie. 
It  was  the  service  which  Aveling  so  confidently 
trusted  for  his  salvation.  In  its  grasp  he  had 
ventured  among  the  powers  of  darkness  to  break 
his  thralldom,  and  now,  between  his  lost  soul  and 
safe  return,  there  stretched  a  blank.  Kent  was 
unprepared  for  such  hideous  defeat.  He  with- 
drew a  step  and  let  the  rising  flood  sweep  over 
him. 

He  knew  nothing  more  until  a  cold  rim  pressed 
against  his  lips.  "  Drink !  Drink !  "  said  Dr. 
Warren.  Kent  swallowed  the  draught. 

"  Courage, — courage.  The  battle  is  not  over," 
said  Dr.  Warren's  solemn  voice. 

"  But  I  have  lost  my  hold  on  him,"  said  Kent 
hoarsely. 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  I  believe  it  was  neces- 
sary for  him  to  pass  beyond  your  summons  for 
a  while." 

"  He  made  the  trial  only  in  the  confidence  that 
I  could  recall  him,"  said  Kent. 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS  259 

"  Yes,  after  the  final  test,  when  the  papers  have 
been  found.  But  in  the  search  for  them  he  must 
go  alone;  for,  after  all,  the  burden  is  on  the  mas- 
ter of  Roxmoor.  It  is  his  to  give  or  to  withhold. 
He  alone  is  in  the  chain  of  sequences  that  lead 
to  the  hiding-place,  and  only  through  him  can 
the  guilty  act  be  reborn." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  as  if  considering 
Aveling's  painful  travail  and  its  relation  to  hu- 
man discipline,  as  he  strove  to  bring  to  this  young, 
vigorous  mind  the  lesson  of  limitation  which  he 
himself  had  learned  in  a  lifetime  of  daily  contact 
with  the  mystery  of  suffering.  His  harsh  face 
was  touched  with  feeling  as  he  spoke,  placing 
a  hand  on  Kent's  shoulder: 

"  The  service  of  brotherhood  must  yield  to  its 
limitations ;  for  the  human  life,  in  its  most  tragic 
moments,  is  solitary.  The  soul  must  bear  alone 
the  curse  of  its  blood.  For  the  sins  of  the  fa- 
thers shall  be  visited  upon  the  children,  even  to 
the  uttermost  generation !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE    MAN    WHO    SOWS 

"  BAROTTI  refuses  to  come." 

Kent  looked  in  dismay  at  Dr.  Warren,  who  was 
speaking. 

"  But  he  promised  to  talk  to  me,"  said  Kent. 

"  He  says  he  will,  gladly,  in  any  place  but 
Roxmoor.  His  resolution  on  that  point  he  de- 
clares to  be  irrevocable." 

Kent  glanced  at  Aveling's  motionless  figure. 

"  Must  you  see  Barotti  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Warren. 

"  I  feel  that  I  absolutely  must." 

The  doctor  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  What  are  the  chances  of  my  being  needed 
here?  "  asked  Kent. 

Dr.  Warren  replied  in  his  dryest  manner.  "  As 
you  must  see  Barotti,  and  he  refuses  to  come,  I 
see  but  one  thing  to  do.  I  do  not  anticipate  that 
Mr.  Aveling's  wakening  will  be  sudden.  There 
would  probably  be  time  to  summon  you.  Little 
more  than  twenty-four  hours  have  passed  yet." 

"  Then  it  would  better  to  go  at  once." 

Dr.  Warren  nodded,  and  Kent  left  the  room. 
240 


THE  MAN  WHO  SOWS  241 

The  afternoon  was  clear  and  sharp ;  last  night's 
sullen  clouds  had  vanished.  Kent,  walking  rap- 
idly, soon  reached  Saxholm  Grange.  The  door 
opened  just  as  Kent's  hand  touched  the  knocker, 
and  Mr.  Barotti  signed  to  him  to  enter.  He  led 
the  way  to  the  library  in  silence,  and,  placing 
a  chair  for  his  guest,  fixed  his  dark  eyes  upon 
Kent.  They  were  tawny  and  wild  to-day. 

"  I  expected  you,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  Then  let  us  proceed.  I  have  little  time  to 
spare."  Kent  looked  down  at  the  floor  for  a 
moment's  thought,  and  then  raised  his  eyes. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Barotti,  do  you  hate  my  friend  Avel- 
ing?  " 

A  flame  leaped  into  Barotti's  eyes. 

"  Before  God,  man,  I  don't  know ! "  he  said, 
with  a  heaving  breast.  He  clenched  his  hands,  as 
they  lay  upon  the  arms  of  his  chair,  until  they 
shone  like  marble.  "  I  think  it  is  that  which  raises 
such  a  devilish  passion  in  me — that  I  don't  know, 
— that  there  is  no  reason, — and  I  yet  hate.  I, — 
Michel  Barotti,  the  slave  of  a  heedless  generation, 
ready  to  help  a  king  or  a  beggar,  it  matters  not; 
bartering  my  life  for  the  cause  of  the  spirit, — 
yet  degraded  and  lowered  when  I  meet  my  own 
soul  in  solitude  and  see  there  the  stains  of  un- 
brotherly  hate !  " 

The  man  became  transformed  as  the  words 
tumbled  forth  in  a  fiery  torrent,  seeming  to  scorch 


24,2  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

the  very  air.  He  flung  a  withering  glance  at  Kent, 
as  if  he  typified  that  overmastering  fate. 

After  a  slight  pause,  Kent  spoke  in  a  dry, 
business-like  tone: 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that,  in  some  past 
century,  an  Aveling  had  wronged  a  Barotti  ?  " 

As  Kent  watched,  the  man  before  him  passed 
through  an  amazing  change.  He  started, 
blanched,  and  then  sank  limp  into  his  chair.  He 
made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  only  a  choked 
aspirate  issued  from  his  throat. 

"  Because  there  is  a  strong  probability  of 
wrong  succession,"  Kent  went  on  calmly.  "  If 
you  can  give  me  any  fresh  facts,  we  can  perhaps 
get  nearer  to  a  solution  of  the  matter." 

Barotti  put  out  a  long,  lean  arm  and  grasped 
Kent.  His  anger  had  vanished.  He  was  pos- 
sessed by  an  unwelcome  thought,  which  began  to 
shape  itself  before  his  stunned  senses. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  my  child  will  have  any 
share  in  the  inheritance  ?  " 

Kent  nodded.  Barotti  withdrew  his  hand  and 
sank  into  his  chair,  white  and  cowed.  He  began 
to  speak,  after  an  interval: 

"  Pride  in  the  human  lot  is  a  sorry  thing.  '  I 
have  been  a  just  man, — just  in  love  and  just  in 
hate,  I  thought,  until "  He  started  sud- 
denly from  his  chair.  "  Why,  it  is  part  of  my 
life,  man.  I  tried  to  throttle  it.  I  stamped  in 


THE  MAN  WHO  SOWS  243 

rage  upon  it.  I  led  my  child  to  his  door  when 
I  longed  to  tear  out  her  eyes  because  they  smiled 
at  him.  But  it  gnaws  like  an  eating  fire."  He 
reared  himself  before  Kent,  glaring  down  at  him. 
"  Man,  I'd  sell  my  soul  to  you,  if  you  could  wash 
off  this  blot !  "  He  struggled  for  a  little,  and 
then  sank  into  his  seat,  shaken  and  trembling. 
A  few  words  came  in  faint  whisper,  "  Ah — that 
terrible  loss  of  self ! " 

Kent,  with  a  stupefied  sense  of  the  greatness  of 
human  living,  watched  the  struggle,  in  its  essen- 
tials a  repetition  of  the  grasp  upon  Aveling. 
Neither  this  shaken  being  nor  Aveling  knew  the 
reason  for  the  passions  which  swept  their  souls. 

Barotti  gradually  resumed  his  accustomed 
harsh  self-control,  and  began  at  once,  in  a  low 
tone,  a  rapid  recital  of  the  history  which  Mme. 
Barotti  had  given,  dwelling  with  rude  eloquence 
upon  that  ancient  Barotti  who  had  raised  the 
quarrel. 

"  No  one  knows  the  cause  of  the  man's  anger. 
He  had  been  entertained  at  Roxmoor  and  returned 
home  in  a  fury.  Failing  in  his  attempts  to  rouse 
his  family,  he  renounced  them  and  went  to  the 
Continent.  That  terrible  anger  formulated  itself 
as  a  hatred  of  the  rich  and  an  espousal  of  the 
cause  of  the  poor.  Naturally  he  found  his  way  to 
Italy,  for  the  springs  from  which  came  that  later 
stream  of  philosophy  and  liberal  thought,  which 


244  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

was  Italy's  great  glory,  were  rising,  and  his  hot 
temper  was  fit  material  for  its  moulding  power. 
From  him  came  that  loathing  of  class  and  privi- 
lege which  I  have  the  honor  to  cherish  as  one 
of  my  most  precious  endowments." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  these  two  men  are 
identical?  " 

"  None  in  the  least.  There  are  plenty  of  au- 
thenticated documents." 

Kent  silently  revolved  the  situation. 

"  Mr.  Barotti,  it  is  well  to  be  prepared  for 
all  things,"  he  said,  in  a  measured  tone.  "  It  may 
chance  that  your  child  will  be  finally  proven  the 
sole  rightful  heir  to  Roxmoor." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Barotti,  in  a  ter- 
rible voice. 

"  I  mean  that  the  Lord  Aveling  of  the  twelfth 
century  may  have  gained  the  heritage  for  his  son 
by  means  of  a  forgery.  In  reading  over  the  docu- 
ments one  might  not  think  his  penances  more  than 
a  fine  man's  sense  of  the  guilt  of  the  human  lot. 
But  changing  the  point  of  view,  made  necessary 
by  the  strange  scourging  of  Aveling's  blameless 
life,  it  assumes  a  different  look.  It  is  clear  that 
the  elder  son  did  not  die,  but  was  left  in  Italy, 
and  afterward  brought  to  Roxmoor  as  a  servant, 
and  that  this  young  man  was  the  first  master  of 
Saxholm  Grange.  Let  me  examine  your  papers 
to  be  sure  of  my  ground." 


THE  MAN  WHO  SOWS  245 

As  the  full  meaning  of  Kent's  words  came  to 
Barotti,  he  leaped  from  his  chair. 

"  My  God,  man !  I  couldn't  take  that  place," 
he  said,  with  hoarse  pulls  for  breath. 

"  There  will  be  time  enough  to  discuss  that 
later,"  said  Kent  sternly.  "  Meanwhile,  Aveling 
is  dying." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE   BISEN    SPIEIT 
OCTOBEE   30! 

Kent  mentally  consigned  all  calendars  to  per- 
dition as  his  eye  fell  upon  this  date  when  he  en- 
tered the  house.  Mrs.  Aveling  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  Red  Parlor  as  his  step  echoed  in  the 
hall.  Her  face  was  white  as  alabaster  as  she  stood 
against  the  oak  panelling  of  the  wall.  She  exam- 
ined Kent's  face  with  some  anxiety,  inviting  him 
to  join  the  circle  in  the  room.  Lady  Melton  was 
there,  with  Mary  Endicott  and  Betty.  Dr.  War- 
ren entered  a  few  moments  after  Kent.  It  was 
Lady  Melton's  voice  that  broke  the  silence,  with 
a  note  of  agitation  in  its  music. 

"  Mr.  Kent,  you  have  some  hope  for  us." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have,"  he  said.  He  drew 
nearer  to  the  fire  and  held  his  hands  before  the 
blaze.  "  Ah !  that  is  good.  The  air  cuts  like  a 
knife  to-night." 

Each  one  in  the  group  furtively  scanned  his 
face  as  he  bent  shivering  over  the  fire.  It  was  not 
like  him;  his  splendid  health  rarely  felt  the  cold. 

"  Your  heart,  perhaps,  can  cast  out  the  chill 
246 


THE  RISEN  SPIRIT  247 

with  its  secret  hope,"  said  Lady  Melton  mean- 
ingly. 

He  gave  her  an  understanding  smile.  "  Per- 
haps I  am  a  little  selfish,"  he  said,  but  he  did  not 
go  on  at  once.  He  noticed  that  Dr.  Warren 
quietly  slipped  from  the  room,  summoned  by  Wat- 
son's sphinx-like  visage  appearing  in  the  hall. 
Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  he  presently  began  to 
recite  the  story  gathered  from  so  many  sources. 
A  deep  silence  fell  upon  his  listeners,  for  in  Kent's 
flowing  narrative  they  saw  Aveling  issue  from  the 
struggle  a  re-created  man.  As  soon  as  his  voice 
ceased,  Mrs.  Aveling  spoke: 

"  Then,  if  the  old  Lord  Aveling  usurped  the 
place  of  the  true  heir,  we  can  right  it  all  by  re- 
storing the  inheritance  to  Barotti." 

"  But  we  are  not  in  possession  of  the  documents 
which  prove  this,"  said  Kent  gently. 

"  We  could  give  it  to  Barotti,  anyway,"  she 
said,  nervously  twisting  her  hands. 

There  was  a  brief  pause.  "  Barotti  refuses 
to  take  the  property — without  proofs,"  said  Kent, 
in  a  low  voice. 

Mrs.  Aveling's  face  fell.  "  Is  there  no  way  to 
get  the  proofs  ?  " 

"  There  is  only  one  way  I  know  of."  His  words 
rang  with  intensity  of  feeling.  Every  face  in  the 
firelight  lifted  as  Kent  went  on :  "  If  Ned  could 
be  made  to  live  through  that  period  of  Lord  Avel- 


248  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

ing's  life  when  the  wrong  was  done,  he  might  re- 
hearse the  deed  and  reveal  the  place  where  the 
papers  lie." 

"  And  how  can  that  be  done  ?  " 

"  Some  suggestion  must  strike  the  trail  at  the 
right  time  for  action,"  said  Kent.  "  And  when 
the  time  comes,  any  chance  word  we  say  to  him 
may  forge  or  break  the  chain." 

Mrs.  Aveling  started  from  her  seat,  with  paling 
cheeks.  "  What  is  that  ?  "  she  whispered. 

Dr.  Warren  had  appeared  on  the  threshold, 
looking  anxiously  about.  Kent  sprang  up. 

"  Tell  me  what  is  wrong?  "  begged  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing. "  Has  anything  happened  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  change  in  Mr.  Aveling's  condition. 
His  pulse  is  rapidly  mounting.  I  think  Mr.  Kent 
had  better  come." 

The  two  men  set  off  together,  and,  as  they 
neared  Aveling's  apartment,  heard  the  deep, 
sonorous  tones  of  the  Templar.  They  quickened 
their  steps.  Aveling  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
old  bed-chamber  as  they  entered, — a  dramatic, 
commanding  figure.  With  an  intense  self-con- 
sciousness upon  him,  he  had  bent  a  stern,  accus- 
ing eye  on  Watson,  who  stood  before  him: 

"  Peace,  thou  prating  varlet !  Bring  me  the 
garments  I  am  wont  to  use.  Whence  come  these 
ill-befitting  robes?" 


THE  RISEN  SPIRIT  249 

Watson  was  holding  the  Templar's  garb.  Avel- 
ing*s  irritation  increased  at  the  sight. 

"  Thou  art  a  worthless  knave,  with  thy  indo- 
lence. What  doth  the  Lord  Aveling  with  things 
like  these  ?  "  He  held  up  the  Templar  uniform, 
ran  his  eye  over  it,  and  contemptuously  flung  it 
aside.  "  See  if  thou  hast  an  eye  within  thy  head. 
Perchance,  it  may  alight  upon  a  more  proper 
wear."  He  finished  with  a  half-humorous 
sarcasm. 

Watson  fell  back,  aghast.  Aveling  turned 
away,  and,  dropping  into  his  easy-chair,  seemed 
to  lose  himself  in  thought.  As  he  paid  no  at- 
tention to  their  movements,  one  after  another 
slipped  from  the  room  and  gathered  in  the  hall, 
a  pale  and  silent  group. 

"For  God's  sake,  sir!  What  shall  I  do?" 
gasped  Watson. 

Dr.   Warren's  face  wore  an   anxious  concern. 

"  What  are  we  to  make  of  this,  Mr.  Kent? 
This  is,  no  doubt,  the  personality  he  wished  to 
raise,  but  it  has  appeared  at  a  different  point, 
and,  unless  we  can  give  him  the  connection,  he 
will  be  unable  to  reproduce  the  period  that  is 
necessary." 

"  It  must  be  that  he  has  gone  back  to  an  earlier 
period  of  Lord  Aveling's  life,"  said  Kent.  "  It 
was  quite  late  in  life  that  he  became  a  member  of 


250  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

the  Templar  brotherhood.  It  may  be  that 
the  robes  of  the  earlier  period  were  not  pre- 
served." 

"  What  shall  we  do?  'E'll  soon  be  calling,  sir," 
urged  Watson. 

An  insignificant  incident  spurred  Kent's  mem- 
ory. "  I  think  Mrs.  Aveling  might  help  us  here," 
he  said.  "  I  once  heard  her  speak  of  some  ancient 
garments  in  connection  with  this  very  Templar 
robe." 

Watson  was  hastily  sent  to  her,  and  presently 
returned,  bearing  a  voluminous  garment,  worn 
and  ancient  and  yet  surviving  the  ravages  of  time, 
as  everything  pertaining  to  the  Templar  seemed 
miraculously  to  do.  White  and  trembling,  he  ad- 
vanced within  the  room  where  Aveling  waited. 
Kent  and  Dr.  Warren  followed. 

Aveling  rose  from  his  chair  and  critically  sur- 
veyed the  garment  offered  him.  His  brow  dark- 
ened with  a  visible  effort  to  think,  as  if  exact  rec- 
ollection just  escaped  him.  After  an  interval,  he 
suffered  Watson  to  put  it  about  him,  and  stepped 
forth,  the  ancient  lord  in  garb  and  speech.  He 
graciously  inclined  his  head  to  Kent  and  Dr. 
Warren. 

"  Come  to  the  castle-hall,"  he  said. 

Following  some  unknown  turn  of  thought,  Avel- 
ing led  the  way  to  the  wing  which  was  inhabited. 
Kent's  fears  rose.  The  trail  was  leading  in  the 


THE  RISEN  SPIRIT  251 

wrong  direction,  but  he  could  only  helplessly  fol- 
low. 

They  were  all  gathered  in  the  hall  when  Aveling 
approached.  His  progress  was  arrested  for  a 
moment  as  he  passed  the  picture  that  hung  op- 
posite the  stairway.  He  seemed  to  compare  the 
painted  costume  with  the  one  he  wore,  as  if  not 
settled  surely  in  possession  of  himself.  An  evi- 
dent satisfaction  cleared  his  brow.  He  made  a 
gesture  of  assent  and  passed  on. 

"  Room,  lord  and  ladies ;  room  for  two  noble 
guests  who  ask  the  courtesy  of  Roxmoor."  He 
turned,  with  a  most  stately  grace,  to  the  two  men 
who  followed  him :  "  I  pray  you,  gentle  friends, 
to  bide  some  little  time  within  our  castle  walls. 
We  cannot  promise  much  of  stirring  feats  of 
arms;  but  in  our  poor  towers  you  may  find  re- 
pose and  peace,  hemmed  safe  from  broil  and 
feud." 

His  glance,  travelling  about  the  room,  sud- 
denly darkened  in  a  frown. 

"  How  now,  what  do  we  hear?  This  is  not  meet 
for  Roxmoor's  guests.  The  great  hall  stands  dull 
and  empty,  while  we  huddle.  Come,  gentle  lords 
and  ladies ;  come.  It  were  a  fitter  place  we  seek." 

He  turned  away,  but  his  eye  was  caught  by 
Mrs.  Aveling,  standing  near  the  doorway.  He 
looked  her  up  and  down,  with  some  evident  strug- 
gle of  thought,  and  then  advanced  to  her  side: 


252  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

"  How  art  thou,  my  gentle  Mariola?  Holy  men 
at  orisons  might  envy  that  pure  brow  that  be- 
speaks an  easy  soul." 

Mrs.  Aveling  looked  down  with  a  softened  face, 
her  young  beauty  ennobled  by  the  maternal  ele- 
ments in  her  love.  She  bore  his  deference,  but 
did  not  speak,  uncertain  of  what  impulse  might 
move  him  next.  For  it  was  evident,  from  the  som- 
bre glow  upon  his  features — the  intimations  of 
gathering  force,  power,  initiative, — that  the 
Usurper  was  slowly  forging  a  personality,  of 
whose  scope  no  one  knew. 

The  silent  group  looked  on  at  the  perilous  thing 
unfolding  before  their  eyes.  Every  word  and  ac- 
tion was  of  vital  importance  to  build  up  the 
slowly  growing  memory  of  the  past.  Could  she 
endure  the  double  strain  upon  her?  Aveling  was 
not  yet  in  full  possession  of  this  new  self.  Her 
words  might  break  the  spell. 

He  was  seen  to  lift  an  anxious  scrutiny  to  her 
face.  "  And  yet,  methinks,  a  melancholy  lurks 
there,  too." 

She  smiled  bravely  down  at  the  lifted  face,  her 
gray  eyes  in  a  tender  glow.  The  silent  listeners 
waited,  breathless,  for  her  to  speak. 

"  It  is  the  sunshine  of  thy  love  that  gives  me 
peace,  dear  my  lord,"  she  murmured.  "  And  the 
shadow  of  thy  absence  that  makes  me  sad." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE    LORD    A  VEILING 

AVELING  bent  over  and  pressed  his  lips  to  her 
hand  and,  offering  his  arm  with  stately  grace, 
passed  out.  The  others  could  only  helplessly  fol- 
low, with  the  certain  presage  of  Aveling's  desti- 
nation, the  old  hallway,  closed  and  desolate  for 
many  centuries.  It  was  the  banqueting-hall  in 
that  early  period  to  which  his  mind  reverted.  The 
darkness  and  the  empty  grate  roused  him  to  a 
fury.  He  stamped  upon  the  floor,  issuing  im- 
perious commands,  while  the  fire  grew  upon  the 
hearth  and  light  sprang  out  of  the  darkness. 

With  a  sudden  descent  into  the  shades,  Avel- 
ing  exactly  reproduced  what  must  have  been  the 
daily  habit  of  that  troubled  ancestor  of  his. 
Every  detail  of  that  experience  was  touched  upon ; 
even  the  tender  devotion  to  the  much-loved  Mari- 
ola.  Nothing  was  lacking  in  the  workings  of  his 
brain,  reconstructing  the  memories  that  shifted 
through  it. 

But  time  sped  with  a  horrible  swiftness  in  that 
disordered  consciousness.  Scarcely  was  an  order 
given  until  another  followed  hot  upon  its  heels. 
253 


£54.  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

Days,  weeks,  months  fled  away  in  the  space  of  a 
few  short  hours.  Aveling's  energy  was  boundless, 
— the  convolutions  of  his  excited  brain  a  marvel. 
He  despatched  mythical  couriers  to  a  dead  king. 
He  ordered  scouts  to  search  for  fancied  enemies, 
and  made  allusion  to  events  of  which  no  one 
knew  the  meaning. 

Late  in  the  night  some  one  took  Mrs.  Aveling 
away  and  compelled  her  to  rest.  Kent  and  Dr. 
Warren  watched  alone.  Toward  morning  there 
came  a  change.  Aveling  sank  into  the  wretched- 
ness of  some  deep  grief.  It  seemed  that  years 
passed  and  his  sorrow  did  not  lessen.  To  Kent's 
amazement,  the  man  began  to  age  before  him.  His 
shoulders  bent,  his  eye  dimmed.  He  crouched 
lower  in  his  chair,  drooped  in  an  abject  misery 
which  engulfed  the  whole  man. 

When  a  new  day  dawned  bright  and  clear, 
Aveling  did  not  heed.  The  swiftly  revolving 
drama  in  his  brain  shut  out  the  slow  passage  of 
ordinary  time.  The  food  they  placed  before  him 
was  scarcely  touched.  He  began  to  murmur  in- 
distinctly of  some  vague  distress,  making  feeble 
movements,  as  if  to  rid  himself  of  some  hamper- 
ing bond.  His  feebleness  increased  at  a  speed 
which  threatened  collapse.  The  murmured  words 
became  a  meaningless  gibber.  Mrs.  Aveling  was 
hastily  summoned,  in  the  hope  that  her  presence 
might  stay  his  sinking  powers.  He  did  not  stir 


THE  LORD  AVELING  255 

when  she  entered  the  room,  nor  by  any  sign  show 
that  she  was  near.  He  raised  his  head  when  urged 
to  movement,  vacantly  stared  at  her  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  turned  indifferently  away. 

She  winced  and  then  moved  forward,  as  if  to 
lay  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  but  Kent  drew  her 
aside,  for  Aveling's  uneasiness  was  growing  more 
acute.  He  plucked  irritably  at  the  robe  he  wore 
and  cast  appealing  looks  at  Kent,  murmuring  in- 
coherently the  burden  of  his  distress.  Kent  ap- 
proached closer.  The  confused  murmur  resolved 
into  intelligible  sounds: 

"  The  soldier  —  the  Holy  Temple  —  must 

wear "  The  words  died,  but  he  continued  to 

tear  at  his  sleeve  with  a  steady,  imploring  gaze 
that  shaped  his  meaning. 

Kent  summoned  Watson,  who  brought  again 
the  discarded  robe  of  the  Templar.  Aveling*s 
countenance  lightened.  When  the  exchange  had 
been  made,  he  sank  into  his  chair  with  a  sigh, 
and  over  his  worn  and  ageing  features  crept  the 
relief  of  a  scourged  and  penitent  soul. 

Mrs.  Aveling  had  not  moved  while  these  changes 
were  taking  place.  But  something  of  awe  stole 
into  her  face  as  she  looked  down  upon  the 
quiescent  figure  in  the  chair,  sinking  further  into 
the  abysmal  past.  Terror  seized  her  as  she 
watched  the  man  she  loved  fade  into  nothingness 
before  the  difficult  approach  of  the  guilty  and 


256  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

stricken  lord  of  ancient  Roxmoor.  She  started 
violently  as  Kent  spoke: 

**  Do  not  be  alarmed.  The  experience  he  is 
repeating  has  passed  the  period  of  Lady  Aveling's 
death.  He  will  not  know  you  again,  for  this  is 
the  beginning  of  the  last  change." 

The  fascinated  wonder  of  her  look  melted  in  a 
tender  yearning  as  her  resolution  gathered  once 
more  to  face  that  dreadful  meeting  of  two  per- 
sons in  a  single  human  soul! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

UNVEILED 

THE  long  day  drew  wearily  to  a  close.  The 
sky  was  heavily  overcast.  Kent  opened  a  shut- 
ter to  let  in  the  last  rays  of  daylight.  Just  at 
the  horizon  the  clouds  broke.  Long,  red  rays 
reached  out  and  touched  Aveling's  face.  Some- 
thing in  him  stirred.  A  flicker  of  light  crossed 
his  stony  features,  stained  with  the  blood-red  light. 
An  ancient  clock,  which  some  one  put  in  motion, 
struck  off  five  wheezy  strokes.  Aveling  thrilled 
at  the  sound  and,  after  some  feeble,  groping 
movements,  sank  into  his  chair  again,  as  if  the 
sudden  effort  overtaxed  him. 

He  did  not  move  until  the  clock  struck  again. 
Then  he  showed  acute  signs  of  distress  and  seemed 
pressed  to  greater  exertion.  But  he  did  not  leave 
his  chair,  sinking  into  its  hold,  his  eyes  wide  open 
in  a  calm  scrutiny  of  the  room. 

It  was  evident  that  the  striking  of  an  hour 
was  closely  associated  with  something  he  wanted 
to  do.  As  the  hours  moved  on  into  the  night,  he 
made  distressed  attempts  to  leave  his  seat.  But 
it  was  not  until  the  stroke  of  nine  that  his  pur- 
357 


258  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

pose  woke,  as  if  that  hour  were  set  to  some  past 
deed.  Life  and  energy  flowed  into  every  limb. 
A  dull  joy,  like  a  muffled  light,  sprang  up  in  his 
face.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  threw  up  his  hand 
in  a  triumphing  gesture,  and,  with  the  proud  bear- 
ing of  the  dead  Lord  Aveling,  left  the  hall.  He 
evidently  had  some  definite  goal  in  mind,  for  his 
actions  were  full  of  meaning  and  dramatic  fire. 

He  passed  with  some  haste  through  the  corri- 
dors, pausing  at  an  ancient  doorway,  worm-eaten 
and  overspread  with  dust  and  cobwebs.  It  was 
his  intention,  apparently,  to  pass  through,  but 
it  steadily  resisted  his  efforts  to  open  it.  He 
stood  back  and  thundered  forth  imperious  com- 
mands. But  no  one  could  release  the  stiffened 
bolts  or  move  the  ponderous  hinges.  The  ancient 
door,  which,  it  began  to  be  told  in  muttered  whis- 
pers, had  never  been  entered  within  the  knowledge 
of  man,  still  held  firm.  Every  hand  and  voice 
lent  its  aid,  for  Aveling's  desire  to  enter  grew 
more  urgent.  His  words  took  a  threatening  note. 

A  careful  examination  showed  that  the  stout 
oaken  fibre  of  the  wood  had  been  weakened  by  time 
and  the  iron  bolts  and  hinges  corroded  by  damp- 
ness. Working  with  heavy  tools,  inch  by  inch 
the  door  and  frame  were  parted.  The  rusted 
hinges,  eaten  through,  gave  way.  The  door,  with 
a  sudden  crash,  fell  in,  disclosing  a  narrow  rock- 
lined  passage.  Aveling  sprang  forward  and  van- 


UNVEILED  259 

ished  in  the  opening,  followed  by  Kent  and  Dr. 
Warren. 

A  series  of  intricate,  winding  passages  fol- 
lowed, mouldering  and  crumbled  with  age.  The 
dampness  trickled  down  in  streams.  The  ceilings 
grew  lower,  the  rock  more  roughly  hewn.  Here 
and  there  they  passed  the  mouth  of  a  yawning 
cavern,  where  another  passage  branched  off  from 
the  path  they  followed. 

After  a  time  the  character  of  the  place  began 
to  change.  Sculptured  effigies  of  saints  and 
crosses  and  sacred  emblems  appeared,  which  might 
denote  the  approach  to  a  shrine.  At  one  end 
Aveling  stopped,  with  genuflections  and  a  hastily 
muttered  prayer,  and  then  pushed  on  deeper  into 
the  recesses  of  the  old  foundations.  Sometimes 
the  narrow  passage  widened,  or  was  broken  by 
a  niche,  where  a  rude  altar  held  the  crucifix  and 
a  candlestick  or  lamp.  Aveling,  in  his  onward 
progress,  came  to  a  sudden  halt.  The  passage 
apparently  ended  in  a  blank  wall. 

The  group  which  accompanied  him  fell  back. 
Aveling  ran  his  eye  over  the  rough  stones.  There 
was  nothing  to  indicate  that  they  were  any  dif- 
ferent in  structure  from  the  wall  lining  the  pas- 
sage on  either  side.  He  moved  forward  and  went 
through  a  series  of  movements,  as  one  might  re- 
call a  long-forgotten  piece  of  music  to  the  finger- 
tips, touching  the  stones  at  various  places.  There 


260  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

was  a  roar  like  thunder  as  the  wall  began  to 
move.  It  was  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  Aveling 
stepped  into  the  cavern  that  yawned  before 
them. 

They  all  pressed  forward  into  the  recess 
whither  Aveling  had  so  fearlessly  advanced.  He 
stood  within  a  spacious  chamber  hewn  in  the  solid 
rock.  The  flaring  lights  they  carried  fell  upon 
arches  overhead  which  sprang  from  carved  pil- 
lars, supporting  a  beautifully  decorated  ceiling. 
The  side  walls  were  covered  with  frescoes.  Di- 
rectly in  front  stood  an  altar,  richly  ornamented. 
Upon  it  lay  the  emblems  of  a  worship  paid  by  a 
devout  and  anxious  heart.  To  one  side  was  placed 
an  altar  tomb,  upon  which  lay  the  recumbent  fig- 
ure of  a  woman.  Her  features,  severely  classic, 
wore  an  expression  of  great  sweetness  and  repose. 

As  Kent  looked,  the  solitude  and  sanctity  of 
the  place — the  sacred  emblems,  the  carved  slumber 
of  the  dead — seemed  to  re-create  the  long-past 
vigils  which  had  vainly  striven  to  still  a  tortured 
conscience.  The  frescoes  were  faded,  the  marble 
discolored,  the  lights  extinct,  the  fittings  of  the 
altar  falling  in  tattered  ruin,  and  prayers  had 
long  ceased  to  echo  here.  But  through  the 
dilapidation  that  anguished  cry  of  the  soul  still 
rang. 

In  Aveling  that  invisible  despair  was  struggling 
back  to  life  again.  He  knelt  at  the  altar,  he 


UNVEILED  261 

prayed  long  and  earnestly  beside  the  marble  im- 
age, but  no  lightening  of  his  burden  eased  his 
soul.  The  melancholy  of  his  bearing  deepened. 
He  sank  at  last  in  a  broken  heap  beside  the  carven 
image. 

Kent  started  hastily  forward,  but  Dr.  Warren 
stopped  him,  "  I  think  he  is  better  left  undis- 
turbed." 

"  He  is  dying ! "  urged  Kent. 

"  No — not  yet.  But  the  long-delayed  time  is 
here.  That  terrible  wrench  of  conscience  has 
reached  its  crisis.  See — he  already  stirs." 

As  Kent  watched,  with  the  agony  of  one  bound 
hand  and  foot,  he  saw  a  returning  flood  of  life 
alter  the  stricken  frame  beside  the  tomb.  It 
seemed,  insensibly,  to  become  animate  with  a  pur- 
pose that  placed  vigor  within  the  drooped  frame 
and  re-lit  the  dying  fire  in  his  eye.  With  a  glad 
shout,  he  rose  and  laid  a  gentle  touch  upon  the 
marble  cheek  of  her  whose  rest  the  centuries  had 
not  troubled.  With  that  touch  there  flamed  into 
life  the  resolution  that  grew  by  leaps  and  bounds 
within  the  man.  Some  vital  act  of  self-surrender 
broke  the  barrier  that  lay  between  them.  He  cast 
a  devouring  look  at  her,  offering  again  a  worthy 
heart  as  he  trampled  underfoot  the  deed  which 
had  kept  his  soul  in  separation.  He  knelt  and 
kissed  the  hem  of  her  robe;  he  offered  a  tri- 
umphant prayer  before  the  altar,  and,  springing 


262  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

to  his  feet,  plunged  into  the  darkness  that  gaped 
at  the  chapel  door. 

Kent  could  scarcely  follow  the  swift  pace  that 
carried  Aveling  away  from  the  secret  chapel,  un- 
til they  reached  the  corridor  outside  the  ancient 
banqueting-hall,  where  Aveling  paused.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  irresolute.  The  silence  was  deadly. 
The  clock  struck  ten !  Only  two  hours  remained, 
but  hope  was  running  high. 

He  stirred  again,  but  clearly  in  confusion.  He 
moved  to  the  tapestried  parlor,  repeating  frag- 
ments of  bygone  scenes.  He  knelt  in  supplication 
to  the  niched  portrait  and  uttered  piteous  pray- 
ers. He  turned  again  to  the  castle-hall  and  paced 
monotonously  up  and  down,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back.  His  steady  march  carried  him 
away  to  the  row  of  curtainless  windows,  where 
he  halted  and  stared  up  at  the  moon  riding  at 
peace  in  the  deep-blue  sky.  The  stately  figure  in 
the  flowing  robes  was  drawn  sharply  in  black  and 
silver.  The  touch  of  white  upon  his  hair  shone 
dimly,  like  a  star. 

The  snarl  of  an  angry  wild  beast  suddenly 
ripped  the  air.  Aveling  had  moved  with  terrible 
swiftness  and  torn  open  a  recess  concealed  behind 
the  panelling.  It  was  empty! 

Some  sharp  disappointment  was  upon  him  as  he 
searched  the  farthest  cranny  of  the  recess.  There 
were  evidences  of  an  effort  to  think  that  knotted 


UNVEILED  263 

his  frame  and  brought  streams  of  moisture  upon 
his  brow.  In  a  few  moments  he  again  moved  with 
that  incredible  speed  to  another  recess  hid  in  the 
very  jaws  of  the  fire  upon  the  hearth,  only  to  fall 
back  with  a  fresh  cry  of  rage.  Three,  four,  five 
times  he  opened  sliding  panels  and  hidden  draw- 
ers, and  each  recess  was  empty.  Each  time  he 
returned  with  redoubled  fury  to  his  task.  The 
uneasy  criminal  had  been  ill-pleased  with  every 
hiding-place,  and  Aveling  found  his  crooked  trail 
with  difficulty.  His  actions  began  to  wear  a  ma- 
lignant cunning,  like  one  upon  a  stealthy  hunt. 
He  had  crept  away  to  prowl  among  the  shadows 
that  shrouded  the  southern  end  of  the  long  apart- 
ment. His  movements  grew  swifter,  his  step  more 
crafty,  his  searching  arms  more  sinuous  and  ser- 
pent-like. His  eyes  gleamed  like  balls  of  fire, 
and  suddenly  he  seemed  to  melt  from  sight. 

Mrs.  Aveling  sprang  up  with  a  sharp  cry.  She 
looked  piteously  from  one  white  face  to  the 
other. 

"  Can  no  one  find  him  ?  Is  he  gone  forever  ?  " 
With  one  accord  they  turned  to  Kent,  and  for 
a  moment  he  shouldered  alone  the  burden  of  that 
night's  tragedy.  With  short  words  he  directed 
a  search  in  Aveling's  various  haunts,  but  no  trace 
of  him  was  found.  A  clock  nearby  struck  eleven. 
Kent  ground  his  teeth.  He  sent  some  one  to  the 
little  chapel  underground.  He  himself  kept  guard 


264  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

near  the  usual  approach  to  the  picture  gallery. 
Minute  by  minute  passed  until  a  half-hour  had 
gone.  Kent  moved  restlessly  away,  and  then  re- 
turned. Some  accursed  timepiece,  too  cunningly 
contrived,  struck  the  quarter  before  twelve.  One 
seeker  returned,  and  then  another. 

"What  shall  we  do,  Kent?"  came  the  panic- 
stricken  cry  as  they  gathered  round  him,  shrink- 
ing with  terror.  The  few  minutes  that  yet  re- 
mained slipped  silently  into  eternity. 

Kent  was  staring  helplessly  ahead  when  a  cry, 
like  the  piercing  scream  of  a  condor,  rent  the  air. 
With  an  ashen  face,  he  leaped  forward  in  the 
direction  of  the  gallery.  In  a  few  moments  they 
all  had  gathered  within  the  door.  The  candles 
they  carried  wrapped  them  in  a  pillar  of  light. 
Otherwise  the  room  was  dark,  except  for  the  red 
mist  before  the  pictured  Templar.  In  its  faint 
radiance  Aveling's  form  was  just  discernible. 

The  little  group  crept  silently  nearer.  Avel- 
ing  was  painted  on  the  shadows  by  the  cloud  of 
light  that  swept  with  them  over  the  floor, — a 
stately,  majestic  figure,  challenging  his  shadow 
upon  the  wall  for  the  secret  which  had  gripped 
his  life.  The  vacillating  Aveling  was  gone,  and 
in  his  place  stood  a  stern,  accusing  man  facing 
his  lower  self, — its  stains  and  defacements, — with 
an  inexorable  demand  for  the  act  of  self- 
redemption. 


UNVEILED  265 

Within  the  fastness  of  his  soul  the  change  was 
made.  It  poured  out  upon  his  face  and  figure, 
like  the  rising  of  full  noon-tide  upon  a  darkened 
day.  He  started, — straightened,  every  feature 
blazing  beneath  the  transfiguration  of  the  man. 
Those  who  watched  saw  a  great  illumination  en- 
velop the  painted  likeness  on  the  wall  whither 
Aveling's  glance  led  theirs,  and,  as  they  looked, 
it  assumed,  to  their  tranced  vision,  the  reality  of 
flesh  and  movement.  A  great  gladness  surged  out 
upon  the  dark  face  and  swallowed  its  guilt  and 
despair.  It  seemed  a  very  man  that  leaned  gra- 
ciously toward  the  challenging  figure  on  the  floor, 
answering  the  demand  made  in  every  imperious 
line  of  him.  Only  a  moment  Aveling  stood  poised 
in  that  mysterious  communion.  Then  he  leaped 
forward  to  the  niche  beneath  the  picture.  The 
door  swung  open,  the  whole  aperture  turned  out- 
ward on  a  hinge.  He  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
vacant  place,  and  then  sprang  backward.  A  bunch 
of  papers  gleamed  white  in  the  hand  he  held  above 
his  head. 

But  something  was  happening.  Aveling  stag- 
gered back  against  the  wall,  fighting  horribly  for 
breath.  Kent  was  looking  dumbly  forward.  His 
eyes  were  glassy  and  he  seemed  dazed.  Mrs.  Avel- 
ing clutched  his  arm. 

"  Quick — quick !  "  she  urged.  "  You  said  you'd 
bring  him  back !  " 


266  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

With  a  mighty  effort  he  moved,  and,  putting  his 
lips  to  Aveling's  ear,  called  in  a  hoarse  voice: 
"  Ned ! — Aveling — come  back,  man !  The  fight 
is  won !  " 

At  the  first  sound  of  Kent's  words  the  tempest 
in  Aveling  was  stilled.  He  straightened  and  took 
a  step  forward,  and,  as  they  looked,  the  lines  and 
mien  of  the  Templar  began  to  sink.  And  Aveling, 
aged  and  scarred  by  his  struggle,  strangely  al- 
tered by  his  ancient  garments,  advanced  from 
the  shadows  held  in  the  glow  of  a  great  deliver- 
ance. 

A  clock  somewhere  struck  twelve.  Kent  stum- 
bled forward  and  fell  upon  the  floor,  a  senseless 
heap. 

When  Kent  woke,  the  sunshine  streamed  in  a 
broad  track  across  his  chamber  floor.  He  lay 
for  a  little  while  in  the  oblivion  of  a  first  waken- 
ing. The  lees  of  a  vivid  dream  dulled  his  senses. 
Everything  was  quiet,  but  the  sense  of  stirring 
events  was  upon  him  and  strange  recollections  be- 
gan to  haunt  his  mind.  He  raised  himself  upon 
his  elbow  to  listen.  The  slight  movement  caused 
some  one  in  a  corner  to  stir,  and  he  saw  Watson 
advancing  toward  him.  Kent  watched  him  keenly 
for  a  confirmation  of  the  memories  crowding  thick 
upon  him.  But  Watson's  face  had  learned  well 
its  lesson  of  sphinx-like  calm.  Kent  checked  the 


UNVEILED  267 

questions  which  rose  to  his  lips,  and  briefly  gave 
assent  to  Watson's  query  whether  he  wished  to 
rise. 

As  he  emerged  from  his  room  a  little  later,  a 
shadow  seemed  to  tremble  vaguely  upon  the  wall 
and  flit  before  him.  The  house  seemed  strangely 
still.  There  was  no  one  in  the  Red  Parlor  where 
he  waited,  wondering,  until  a  servant  appeared  to 
announce  a  meal,  the  name  of  which  Kent  failed 
to  catch.  His  head  was  dull  and  heavy,  and  his 
limbs  shook  as  he  rose  and  passed  out  to  the  ta- 
ble. Something  in  the  repressed  silence  of  the 
servants  annoyed  him. 

"  Just  what  is  this  meal  I  am  eating,  pray  ?  "  he 
asked,  by  way  of  compelling  those  trained  ma- 
chines to  talk. 

"  Oh,  this  is  breakfast,  sir,"  returned  the  re- 
spectful man  behind  his  chair. 

"  And  what  day  does  it  happen  to  be  ?  "  he 
enquired,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"This  is  Thursday,  sir." 

"  And  the  day  of  the  month?  "  Kent  pursued. 
"What  might  that  be?" 

"  It  is  the  second  day  of  November,"  the  man 
replied,  in  a  lower  voice. 

Kent  nodded.  His  head  was  growing  clearer. 
It  was  plain  that  he  had  slept  some  thirty-four 
hours  or  more,  for,  as  he  glanced  at  a  clock  close 


268  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

by,  he  saw  that  the  hands  stood  near  to  ten 
o'clock.  Now  just  what  was  going  on?  Had 
some  disaster  befallen  Ned? 

"  Have  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aveling  gone  out  ?  "  he 
asked  sharply. 

A  nameless  shadow  flitted  across  the  face  be- 
fore him.  "  I  believe  there  is  a  letter  for  you — 
from  Mr.  Aveling,  sir."  The  man  coughed  behind 
his  hand  and  dropped  his  eyes. 

Kent  relapsed  into  silence  and  worked  manfully 
at  his  breakfast.  He  remembered  now  that  every- 
thing was  all  right  before  that  blackness  fell  upon 
him,  and  his  fears  died  down. 

When  he  returned  to  the  Red  Parlor,  Watson 
approached  with  a  letter  and  a  package  of  papers 
upon  a  tray,  and,  silently  retiring,  closed  every 
door  that  led  into  the  room.  Kent  watched  the 
last  door  swing  to,  and  then  took  up  his  letter. 
It  bore  no  superscription.  He  tore  it  open.  The 
envelope  contained  a  single  sheet,  dated  November 
first,  eight  o'clock,  Melton  Abbey.  Kent  spread 
it  out  and  began  to  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  KENT  : — I  went  in  to-night  to  look  at 
you,  still  sound  asleep,  and  nearly  twenty-four 
hours  have  passed  since  you  fell  to  the  floor  in 
that  deadly  faint.  I  suppose  you  don't  remem- 
ber, but,  after  they  roused  you,  you  soon  fell 
asleep.  The  doctors  assure  me  it  is  a  natural  rest 


UNVEILED  269 

that  will  be  your  salvation,  and  that  you  must  be 
left  until  nature  lets  you  waken.  I  always  did 
hate  self-forgetting  people,  and  they  tell  me  you 
scarcely  shut  an  eye  for  three  days  and  nights. 
But  I  mean  to  have  it  out  with  you,  and  don't  you 
forget  it. 

"  But,  old  man, — I  can't  stand  this  cursed 
house  a  minute  longer.  Something  weighs  me 
down  like  everlasting  doom,  and  they  tell  me  I 
must  go.  And  so  I  am  leaving  to-night.  Warren 
and  Watson,  faithful  watch-dogs  as  they  are,  will 
guard  you  day  and  night  and  bring  you  to  me 
when  you  are  fit  to  travel.  I  brought  a  dozen  or 
two  of  doctors  along,  so  don't  worry  about  me. 
And  I  sha'n't  miss  Watson,  either;  for  I  can't 
see  over  the  army  of  valets  and  otherwise  grouped 
about  my  noble  person.  This  seems  to  be  a 
densely  populated  world. 

"  You  will  find,  by  the  examination  of  the  ac- 
companying papers,  that  Mariola  inherits  the 
Roxmoor  estate.  Bateson  is  to  put  her  in  pos- 
session whenever  you  leave,  for  you  are  to  go  to 
Melton  Abbey  as  soon  as  you  waken.  Lady  Mel- 
ton is  waiting  eagerly  to  receive  you.  And  Betty 
— I  think — is  waiting,  too." 

Then  followed  a  brief  description  of  the  pa- 
pers found  within  the  niche, — the  missing  will,  a 
piece  of  old  parchment,  yellow  and  stained,  but 


270  THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

still  legible, — and  a  history  of  the  crime  carefully 
written  by  the  conscience-stricken  old  lord,  driven 
to  make  every  expiation,  except  the  only  one  that 
could  avail.  Mariola  was  the  true  heir  accord- 
ing to  these  documents.  Kent's  only  task  was  to 
see  the  Barotti  family  duly  installed,  and  join  the 
Avelings  in  Venice,  whither  they  had  gone  to 
wait. 

The  letter  fell  from  Kent's  hand,  striking  the 
envelope  which  had  enclosed  it,  carrying  both  to 
the  floor.  He  stooped  to  pick  them  up,  mechan- 
ically holding  up  the  envelope  to  the  light.  Some- 
thing more  lay  in  it.  He  drew  out  a  thin  slip 
of  paper,  written  hurriedly,  as  if  under  the  pres- 
sure of  another  impulse. 

"  I  often  wonder,  Kent,  if  I  am  I ;  or  if  I  am 
only  the  soul  of  that  old  man  incarnate,  with  the 
spell  of  his  evil  deeds  upon  me.  Or,  if  through 
the  dim  ages,  he  has  tugged  ineffectually  at  all 
my  predecessors.  Or,  perhaps,  that  kinship  of 
the  soul,  symbolized  by  likeness  of  body,  enabled 
his  lost  spirit  to  make  the  message  clear.  Ah! 
these  are  dangerous  reveries!  Who  can  penetrate 
these  dim  regions  and  tell  us  of  them?  Better — 
far  better,  to  take  the  way,  a  step  at  a  time,  as 
we  are  bidden.  But  I  long,  with  a  thirst  I  hope 

you'll  never  share,  for  a  Lethe  draught " 

The  pen  trailed  out  a  few  more  indistinguishable 


UNVEILED  271 

words,  but  Kent  divined  their  meaning.  For, 
when  he  looked  up,  the  face  of  the  Templar  smiled 
down  at  him  in  the  radiance  of  a  new-born  peace, 
and  then  dissolved  into  the  shadows. 

Kent  got  up  and  doggedly  explored  the  corner 
where  the  vision  had  appeared.  A  dim  old  por- 
trait lay  concealed  in  a  dark  angle.  He  lit  a 
match  and  held  it  up.  The  same  face  of  an  earlier 
date  showed  a  benign  countenance  untroubled  by 
the  secret  of  his  latter  years.  Again  the  portrait 
started  forward.  Kent  turned  and  faced  a  blind- 
ing flood  of  sunshine  playing  through  a  window 
seldom  opened.  He  looked  no  longer  with  con- 
tempt at  his  shaking  hands,  musing  upon  the 
alchemic  spell  which  shadowed  every  corner  of 
the  manor,  causing  even  the  simplest  of  events 
to  grow  heavy  with  the  mists  of  dread,  and  start- 
ing up  the  reminiscences  of  an  age  stained  with 
a  crime  that  made  the  dead  past  give  up  its  dead. 

Poor,  thrice-haunted  Aveling! 

Kent  went  back  to  his  chair  and  sat  for  a 
while,  lost  in  profound  thought.  He  roused  him- 
self at  last  and  caught  up  the  yellowed  bundle 
of  papers  which  accompanied  the  letter,  a  mass 
of  material  which  carried  the  history  of  the  Avel- 
ing family  from  the  point  where  Kent  had 
dropped  it,  down  to  modern  times.  For  the  next 
two  hours  he  pored  over  the  checkered  story,  fas- 


THE  MAN  WHO  REAPS 

cinating  as  a  fairy  tale.  How  the  family  had 
declined,  flaring  up  at  intervals  under  the  impulse 
of  fresh  blood  injected  into  its  ancient  veins; 
or  responding  to  the  touch  of  passion,  which,  at 
stern  and  bloody  times,  evoked  slumbering  powers. 
How  the  title  had  lapsed  during  a  period  of  fa- 
natical religious  fervor,  never  to  be  revived;  and 
then  the  slow  creeping  on  of  that  sinister  fatality 
which  piled  up  gold  and  treasure  and  drew  a  circle 
of  blood  about  it. 

He  read  over  the  quiet  misery  which  escaped 
in  the  last  few  lines  of  Aveling's  letter.  His  face 
grew  dark  and  bitter,  dwelling  upon  the  pictured 
Templar,  as  he  came  and  went  beneath  the  ray 
of  light.  So  many  centuries  to  right  one  wrong; 
so  many  shadowed  lines ;  and  now  the  heavy  price 
of  Aveling's  buoyant  joy  in  living. 

He  ran  once  more  over  the  words  that  some- 
how lingered — "  Better  to  take  the  way,  a  step 
at  a  time,  as  we  are  bidden," — and  the  soldierly, 
forward  trend  of  the  brave,  fine  words  caused  his 
thoughts  to  run  out  into  a  mood  of  grave  wonder, 
with  a  fresh  conviction  of  the  necessity  for  the 
soul  to  receive  and  bear  the  discipline  of  human 
living,  whether  just  or  unjust.  His  memory  re- 
viewed with  lightning  clearness  the  night  that 
Aveling,  like  a  man  going  to  be  shot,  pointed  out 
his  grim  fate,  and  the  quiet  surrender  to  the  obli- 


UNVEILED  273 

gations  of  his  blood  which  illumined  the  pale, 
familiar  face  drew  Kent's  bitterness  away.  For 
he  knew  that,  through  that  terrible  testing,  this 
careless,  laughing  spirit  had  accomplished  the 
human  destiny  and  risen  to  the  full  stature  of  a 
spiritual  man. 


THE   END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


*       • 


